


Measure Of A Man

by inadaze22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Astoria Greengrass Dies, BAMF Hermione Granger, Background Relationships, Blood and Injury, Character Growth, Cooking, Dementia, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Sexual Tension, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support Cactus, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gardens & Gardening, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Humor, Intimacy, Nothing to Something to Everything, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Positive female relationships, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, The Ministry of Magic is Corrupt (Harry Potter), Unreliable Narrator, minor Percy Weasley/Pansy Parkinson, seriously a SLOW BURN
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 250,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26523892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inadaze22/pseuds/inadaze22
Summary: To truly know someone is to differentiate between who they once were, who they are now, and who they're capable of being. Hermione realises the duality of one man as she rectifies what she knows of the past and begins to understand the pieces of who Draco Malfoy is now: a father, a son, and a man.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 1403
Kudos: 1709
Collections: Dramione Favoris, Dramione Fics That Live In My Head Rent Free, Escapism, Got me in my feelings <3, dm fanfics





	1. The Journey Is The Destination

**  
One  
** _The Journey Is The Destination_

  
  


_**March 13, 2011** _

The quietest people have the loudest minds.

Hermione had always found the quote thought-provoking, not only because it was true, but also because she couldn't think of a more accurate statement to describe Theodore Nott.

He had never been loud—always reading and studying—which was something Hermione appreciated. As an adult, his pensive nature had transformed into the sort that frustrated most people, but never her. It kept Hermione alert, drew her attention, and constantly made her wonder what he was _really_ thinking.

Some people were quiet because they had nothing happening in their minds, some had too much, but Theo's silence was neither. In fact, his squinty green eyes and purposefully understated presence reminded Hermione of yet another quote:

It takes one to know one.

And because she knew exactly what that look meant, she was well aware that Theo was _scheming._

Hermione allowed it as she sorted through the tiny crumbs of clues she'd picked up over her last six years working for him—clues he'd inadvertently dropped that spoke of his intentions when he wouldn't. Whatever Theo wanted from her today was important to him. _Personal_.

She didn't like it one bit.

Theo didn't _discuss_ anything remotely _personal_. Not with her or anyone else—at least not while they were at work. Pansy was the exception, but they had been lifelong friends. Hermione suspected that his strict division between work and play had been the only belief he _hadn't_ shed after the war. Everything was business and had been since he'd spent his entire family's fortune buying and reviving the bankrupt hospital in a move that, while altruistic, had been far more lucrative than anyone had expected.

That had been eight years ago when Theodore Nott, Sr died during a prison break and he was left alone, desperate to atone for the sins of his father.

Anything that could make Theo, of all people, change the well-established status quo was certainly _not_ an endeavour Hermione wanted to undertake. Instead, she watched him, her answer to his unasked question ready.

Theo's office was large with neutral walls, light wood floors, sparse furniture, and décor. The artificial lights gave the room an almost clinical glow. Even with Pansy's attempts at adding bits of masculine flair by way of artwork, rugs, and the black dragon-hide sofa in the designated sitting area across the room, it still wasn't particularly grand.

Hermione thought it was fitting for the sort of man Theo was.

Except for one thing: the children's dictionary all alone on the corner of his desk.

_That_ didn't fit.

The man himself stood at the aforementioned bookshelf, skimming over the assortment of spines and pulling off a book here and there. Theo was almost as tall as Ron and handsome in a way that made it clear he was aware, but had never needed to use it for his benefit. He was too smart for that.

Honestly, Hermione had looked at him once or twice—she wasn't _blind_ —and she might have subtly hinted at her interest. Ideally, Theo _was_ her type now that she understood herself better. He had an odd sense of humour, was put together and astute, levelheaded but decisive, and had the bonus of being tall and extremely attractive. Theo, on the other hand, had never shown interest outside of friendship and that was it.

But it never stopped her from looking appreciatively.

As well as critically.

Dressed in fitted grey trousers and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, Theo exuded a sort of tactical calm that masqueraded itself as stoic indifference. But Hermione knew better and waited patiently for him to remember that he wasn't dealing with his normal ilk.

"I'm quite busy, Theo."

He responded by bringing his selected books back to his desk before he sat down, opening the first with the ease of a man that didn't have a meeting with the hospital board in twenty-seven minutes—twenty of which he would need to debate with her on the topic of whatever he was scheming about. He didn't have a lot of time to spare, but flipped the page with unhurried confidence anyway.

With his eyes still on his book, he picked up his porcelain teacup and brought it to his lips, taking a light sip of the piping hot tea that she had brewed from her own collection before she turned up for the meeting that had spontaneously appeared on her magi-scheduler that morning.

Theo was a particular sort of man who took his tea—no matter the variety—steeped for exactly five minutes with no sugar because he wanted to _enjoy the flavour._

_Boring_ , but Hermione couldn't bring herself to judge anyone who appreciated the classics.

It was such a rare thing these days.

As he read, Hermione reached for the tin thermal and poured herself a cup as well before settling back in her chair, crossing her legs as the knees, and taking her first sip. The tea was a blend of peppermint and rosemary grown and prepared in her vegetable patch several months ago; a perfect remedy for the afternoon slump they both tended to suffer.

Hermione took a reviving inhale of steam from her cup before ending the purposeful silence. "If you delay any longer, you'll be late. The board will not be pleased. I'm already late for a visit with my parents, and my mother won't be pleased either."

That wasn't _exactly_ true, but he didn't need to know that.

Not that it mattered. Theo's silence held out another full minute; he never spoke too soon or too late, only at the precise moment he meant to. "As usual, your blend is excellent." His voice was even and firm, but there was something almost gentle in his tone that told her his compliment was sincere. He placed his teacup on the saucer and looked at her again before closing the book he had been reading and extending it to her. Hermione peered at the cover.

_Neurological Diseases and their Effects on Wizards._

She didn't accept it.

"I've already read this." Even though it wasn't her area of expertise. _"Twice."_

Hermione started in plant poisoning after quitting the Ministry and finishing Healer Academy, but hadn't stayed long due to the popularity of Alternative Healing—a branch that didn't quite fit inside the walls of St. Mungo's, but one that was needed after the war with the sharp rise in mental health concerns and specialties that didn't quite fit.

Hermione typically worked with recovering potions addicts, long-term patients that had been revived, and the occasional terminal patient, slowing the progression of their disease. Her unique method of therapy was very involved and multi-layered, but also extremely effective, which was why she only accepted one patient at a time and was allowed to work primarily out of her home. Theo had so much faith in her methods and success rate that he allowed her to pick her own patients.

He opened his desk drawer and retrieved a folder. Carefully, he placed it next to the book as if it was supposed to explain everything. It, in fact, gave her no clues at all. "Take a look. Tell me what you think."

Then he went back to his tea, pouring himself more from the tumbler.

He must _really_ enjoy it.

A cursory glance at the folder was enough to brush against the edge of her curiosity simply because it was completely blank, which didn't look like any other patient file Hermione had seen. Each file at St. Mungo's had at least basic information on the front so the Healers wouldn't forget their patients' names. Inside, all identifying information had been rendered illegible, which meant she didn't have the proper clearance.

So, there was a need for discretion.

_Privacy_.

Interesting.

Hermione had _several_ immediate theories, but until she had more information, she wouldn't show any signs of interest.

Instead, she started from the beginning. By no means did she give it a detailed read, merely a cursory skim. Hermione noted the symptoms: drowsiness, auditory hallucinations, bouts of confusion and forgetfulness, increased pulse and sweating, and temporary motor control issues. Then she read the differential diagnoses: poison, dark magic, a slow-progressing curse? No specific curse was provided as there wasn't _one_ diagnosis that fit the wildly varied symptoms. Hermione flipped the page to scour the notes from the magical scans and tests, but found only incohesive results.

She turned the page to the second opinion from a German Healer that was utterly useless and suggested the patient was experiencing the physical manifestation of stress.

_Recommendation: Rest._

And the third from a Japanese Healer with a lazy diagnosis of brainpox, which made no sense.

_Recommendation: Further testing._

Finally, the fourth, which was from an American Healer who, after what appeared to be the largest battery of tests Hermione had ever seen performed on one patient, ventured outside of the realm of dark magic and violence-caused afflictions and landed on a diagnosis that fit.

_Dementia_.

Or rather, a magical form of it that manipulated the nervous system, which—according to the book next to the patient's folder—only sped up the progression of the disease. The form this particular patient had was typically fatal within eight years in Muggles, and only due to complications.

But in wizards?

Three years.

Perhaps four _or_ five if the patient underwent an intensive care regime that focused on…

Hermione froze as realisation wrapped around her. " _No_."

Theo nodded like he'd expected her answer, not saying anything until he finished his tea; the quiet clank of the cup coming into contact with the saucer echoed in the room. "I'm _more_ than willing to bargain."

"Five _years_ for an assignment, Theo?" She scoffed at the absurdity of the request he hadn't verbally made. _"How_ important is this patient?"

"To their family? _Very."_

Not the answer she was looking for. Hermione, who refused to let him play on her compassion, fixed him with a hard glare, ready to ask the question that was almost burning her brain. "And to _you?"_

That he didn't answer.

No, _wouldn't_.

Ah, so at least in some capacity, it _was_ personal.

Theo didn't have any living relatives, but he did have _family_. One of his own creation. And even though Hermione knew enough about Theo to pick up on the clues he let slip, she only knew a select few members of his family.

Pansy wasn't sick; the witch was currently on the hunt for the perfect clawfoot tub for Hermione's bathroom. Blaise was in Egypt closing the deal on a rare artefact for a buyer (the less she knew the better) while his fiance Padma was hard at work at St. Mungo's. Daphne, who worked with Blaise, took on lighter tasks as she prepared for the birth of her child with her husband, Dean. Goyle had lived in America with his wife and children for years.

Lastly, according to Harry, Malfoy had been insufferable while making quite the splash as the leader of the Ministry's Terrorist Task Force—a role in which he ironically terrorised everyone in both the Auror office _and_ the Department of Magical Law Enforcement about the ongoing investigation into the Death Eater's base of operations.

_What was she missing?_

There was always _one_ thing she missed.

Theo leaned back in his chair, his elbow on the arm, forefinger and thumb on his chin, kneading as if contemplating a particularly difficult chess move. "They are willing to triple your salary."

He was toying with her. Hermione scoffed. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"It's part of the contract," he explained with an easy wave of his hand, allowing himself a brief glimpse at the large, but decorative clock on the wall next to his door. "There are additional benefits provided with this opportunity to make the long-term assignment easier for you. You'd have the ability to set your own hours, your own staff of two private Healers at your disposal to provide in-home care around the clock, and I am to relieve you of your role as a floater staff member."

" _None_ of that is appealing."

Hermione already set her own hours while on assignment as her patients often required more than potions and rest. She _liked_ doing things her own way, which was one of the many reasons she preferred to work alone. She took time to get to know her patients as people, not as a collection of diagnoses and reasons why they'd ended up in her care in the first place, and customised her plans to each person's individual needs and goals. When she needed some help, she could readily find it in a book. More importantly, Hermione liked working as a floater because it offered variety and experience. It kept her sharp and allowed her to broaden her knowledge on other areas of Healing that she hadn't specialised in.

"It's an excellent offer."

She gave him a noncommittal shrug. "Be that as it may, I don't like walking into anything blind. You're asking for _years_ of my career and won't tell me anything worthwhile to assist in making that decision, so forgive me for being wary."

"I've provided their file."

Hermione chuckled dryly. _"You've_ provided the bare minimum thinking it would pique my interest. And I'll admit, I _am_ intrigued, but more about _your_ role in all this than anything else. It's not like you to extend yourself this far. However, it's not enough to tempt me into accepting the assignment."

"They _are_ willing to allow you to add your own terms to the contract."

Hermione's inquisitiveness almost always outweighed her reluctance. "Who is it?"

"That I can't tell you unless you agree."

"And I won't agree without knowing their identity." Hermione allowed her counterpoint to linger and continued to savour her tea. And then, with the same glacial pace as Theo, she finished it and placed the cup on the saucer. "It appears we're at an impasse and you're going to be late."

He fixed her with a challenging look that she more than gladly returned. "The board can— _and will_ —wait." While his response wasn't incorrect, his tone gave Hermione more evidence regarding the importance of their conversation.

She allowed her mind to process the task at hand, attempting to comb through the more nuanced details of Theo's life in her search for answers. But she didn't get very far because Theo was as intelligent and observant as he was private and stubborn.

Hermione had learned, when she came to work for him, that he only shared what he wanted to—or was legally obligated to divulge. And though he often spoke to Hermione in confidence, Theo hadn't opened up to her enough for her to formulate a substantial theory. So, she tucked her suspicions away and got to the heart of the matter. "I won't concede."

"You wouldn't be Hermione Granger if you did."

It wasn't the first time she'd heard those words in that context, but where there was usually an undertone of either disdain or mild annoyance, Theo's only conveyed his admiration. Had she been anyone else, his words might have softened her to the idea of this mystery patient.

But, like he said, she _was_ Hermione Granger.

"My answer is _still_ no." And because she wasn't heartless, she suggested, "Susan might be able to assist or maybe Padma or even Roger Davies." They were the other Healers in their more specialised field; all three would be excellent choices for a long-term assignment like this. There were others, as well, that were just as capable and would likely be interested in the terms of the contract.

"They asked for the best. I asked the best." Theo shrugged as if it was that simple.

"Is that flattery I detect?"

"Merely a factual statement."

As her final answer, Hermione shut the file and sat the book on top of it, using her finger to push it back across the desk. His eyes were narrowed as he looked down then back up at her. When he sighed, she knew he was ready to be honest.

_Good._

"There's always been a human element to your care that Roger cannot emulate, which puts you higher in my regards, despite his various accomplishments and accolades. Padma is busy planning a wedding, and as our werewolf specialist, I need her here to deal with the influx of new bites. Susan…" He trailed off momentarily to find the correct word. "Susan is too sensitive for this assignment."

"Too sensitive for a terminal case?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "We're Healers, Theo. Death is something we have to face everyday." She stared at him hard, ready to go to war for a witch she considered a friend. "It's something that we all have _already_ had to stare into the eyes of once. We know how to take care of ourselves and each other when we lose a patient. I don't think you're giving her enough credit."

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant at all, Hermione." Theo was attempting to simmer the flames of her infamously protective nature. "I simply meant the patient is testy and stubborn and I need someone with the right constitution to challenge them, as they have a tendency to run roughshod over people. Not in a callous manner, but… they have a strong personality. Susan… doesn't, but _you_ do."

Hermione found herself even less persuaded. "Thank you for the backhanded compliment, but—"

"Would you say yes if I arranged a meeting?"

She considered his proposal, then him, and the fact that he was giving her a guarded expression that almost seemed a bit hopeful. Hermione sighed and took back the folder and book. "I'll meet with them, but I maintain the right to say no after." _And she likely would._

"That's reasonable, but…" Theo trailed off, using his finger to straighten the quill lying on his desk. "Just… keep an open mind."

That didn't inspire any confidence in their tentative deal, but Hermione considered herself a reasonable person. Sensible. "I can do that." They didn't shake on it, nor were there any binding formalities to their agreement. Only a mutual understanding and a look passed between them, followed by a slight nod of their heads."When should I expect them?"

"I will arrange the date and time and coordinate with you regarding your preferred consultation time. Thank you for agreeing to meet with them."

Hermione gave him a look. "I'm not making any promises."

"Duly noted."

The discussion was over and Hermione thought that her business was completed and she was free to go, but Theo didn't stand to leave, even though he had a full ten minutes before his meeting with the board.

Apparently, their conversation wasn't over.

"The Ministry has sent over an informal offer for you to join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They want me to discuss it with you." Theo picked up his teacup and took a sip. "This is me discussing it with you."

Hermione coughed delicately into her fist in an attempt to stifle a laugh at his outright defiance.

It wasn't the first time they'd had this particular conversation, and the reason the Ministry hadn't sent their offer directly to her was because she would have torn it to shreds and moved along with her day without a second thought.

She'd gone on a sabbatical after her _incident_ with every intention of eventually returning; honestly, quitting hadn't been planned. It was a spur of the moment situation where Hermione found herself thinking about going back for the first time. Suddenly, she felt suffocated by the crushing weight of anxiety and responsibility.

When Hermione caught her breath, she knew she couldn't go back.

Not like that.

Not when she wanted to recapture the love that she had for working hard and feeling like she was accomplishing something important— _making a difference._ Even one that was small. She just wanted to recapture the love for life she once had before getting caught up in the push and pull of Ministry politics. Returning to a life where she had to split herself in every direction requested and be complicit in creating the illusion of peace the Wizengamot wanted to show the people… it wasn't appealing.

It just left her feeling empty and used.

Which was what had prompted her to write her resignation letter, part of what made her decide to apply to the Healer Academy, and definitely what led to her approaching Theo with her request to join the department that had been created to help combat the wizarding world's post-war mental health crisis.

"I'll write back and tell them you declined."

"You could also tell them to stop offering."

"I think we both know that they won't, just like we both know that this is merely an opportunity for you to get your second wind."

"I've been here _six_ _years._ I think I can safely say I won't go back."

Theo continued drinking his tea and never responded.

And because he still made no attempts to move, Hermione asked, "What else?" with just a hint of suspicion. There _had_ to be something else, some subject touchier than his mystery patient and the Ministry's job offer. There was a reason he'd strategically left it for last.

"There is also the matter of the threatening letters we've received."

"Ah."

Thirteen years had passed since the final battle, and the wizarding world was _still_ not at peace, _still_ dealing with Death Eaters, and _still_ ripe for change.

Hermione knew that revolutions never took place when people were content and cared for, but when they felt disenfranchised and vulnerable. The Death Eaters had kept that thought in mind and believed that killing the famous Boy-Who-Lived- _Twice_ and his allies under the Ministry's watch would scare them into striking the match that sparked that revolution.

The threatening letters, however, weren't just sent to her, Harry, and Ron. They extended out to the Weasleys, Malfoys, Luna, Neville, and even Theo's created family—who were all considered blood traitors.

Or _literal_ traitors, as far as the Malfoys were concerned.

Right after the war, the letters would have been more effective in scaring her.

Now, they were an irritant at best.

"How was it delivered?" Hermione ran her finger along the wooden arm of her chair.

The letters usually came by owl or messenger, always to the hospital. She had worked out a spell years ago that essentially made people as unplottable as their homes, but _everyone_ knew where she worked; her abrupt exit from her Ministry position seven years ago had been… _rather public_.

"This one was delivered this morning by an Imperiused Muggle who had been bitten—"

"Greyback?"

"Yes, but the Muggle tested negative for Lycanthropy, like most of the others." Which was a relief, but with a full moon soon, that was likely to change. Padma's patient count had been steadily on the rise for more than the last year. "He walked into the hospital as if the wards didn't exist." Hermione blinked at Theo in confusion. That move was a sharp deviation from the norm. The letters had always been petty threats, but the added bitten Muggle and security breach felt like every bit of the warning it was.

_We can find you, no matter how well you hide._

Before she could ask, he continued, "The Terrorism Task Force interviewed him, the Obliviators modified his memories to include the fact that he likes his steak rare, and someone from Muggle Relations sent him on his way with a gift card for a steak dinner."

Nice to know, but Hermione had other questions. "The security breach?"

"We're looking into it." And that was it. Likely, it was all he could tell her. "In the meantime, in light of the breach, the Ministry wants to assign you a security detail for your protection."

It wasn't the first time the offer had been made, and it wouldn't be the last.

Theo looked serious. "I think you should consider the offer. There's a werewolf that's been roaming loose since his prison escape three years ago. He's out of control and has taken a liking to _you_."

"I'm aware." The liking wasn't new, but Hermione kept that to herself. He was out there. Waiting.

"It would be wise for you to consider the protection."

Hermione picked up her beaded bag, the file, and the book off his desk—she would need it for the patient's meeting. "Did Harry put you up to this?"

He lifted one brow in response to her question. It told her everything she needed to know.

_Yes._

She shook her head fondly, chuckling to herself. Harry had become _quite_ meddlesome since becoming a father, but they were at a point in their lives where they'd been best friends longer than not. He was one of the people Hermione considered a part of herself because of how well he knew her. And vice versa. Harry _must_ have known she wouldn't be very welcoming considering he _had_ made the suggestion and tried to circumvent her.

Nice try.

"I'm not scared of Greyback."

"You should at least be cautious." Theo's warning seemed to come from a place of concern. "He's rabid and he'll continue to get worse until he gets a taste of what he wants." He gave her a meaningful look. "There's only one thing you can do with a diseased animal…"

_Put them down._

"I _am_ cautious." She settled back in her seat. More cautious than he knew. Every now and then, she could hear a wolf howling at the moon near her home… and there were no wolves in her area. She knew, but she also knew her wards were impenetrable. "Greyback or not, I think by now you both should know that I _am_ my own security.

One corner of Theo's mouth quirked. "I figured you would say that, but I had to try for liability purposes and to be able to honestly tell Potter that I gave it a shot. That's all I wanted to discuss with you today." He shrugged a little and stood to prepare for the meeting that he was now late for. Summoning his jacket with a nonverbal spell and putting it on, he adjusted the collar and sleeves with great care. Theo picked up a small stack of folders—likely the hospital's fiscal budget for next year—and cleared his throat with his fist covering his mouth. "The tea…"

Hermione smirked because sometimes Theo's quiet nature made him appear aloof, but his little signals gave him away. They had been friends for a few years now, and he still wasn't used to asking for what he wanted… when it actually pertained to _himself_. "I'll send some by way of Pansy."

"Thank you."

Hermione rose from her chair and was halfway to his door when she remembered something. "Why do you have a children's dictionary on your desk?"

Theo almost ignored her, he did that sometimes when her questions were too personal, but then he sighed. "It's a gift for my godson." That was… _interesting_. Also odd because not _once_ had he _ever_ mentioned a godson, but not unexpected because it _was_ Theo. The man had a methodology behind every action.

"Oh, how old?" Hermione tried not to sound as curious as she naturally was.

Theo looked at her as if to say _nice try_. "Five as of roughly two months ago."

Interesting. Albus' birthday was next week. If magical, they would likely be schoolmates. Why hadn't Theo mentioned him before? Actually, Hermione had a better question. "So, you bought him a _dictionary_?" she deadpanned with a straight face and a large helping of sarcasm. _"For fun?_ And everyone says _I_ have no imagination."

Hermione had never seen Theo look as awkward as he did right then. "He doesn't play much and he enjoys the pictures. It will be a useful gift to him as his reading skills and comprehension increase."

Sensible and practical, of course, but when she extracted both of those things from his statement, the only question that remained was simple in its essence, but deep and challenging in its answer:

_What sort of child doesn't play?_

* * *

_**March 14, 2011** _

The kind of peace found in nature was irreplaceable, which was why Hermione loved the location of her home.

She experienced every aspect of nature just stepping out of her door. Or even just looking out her window. A colourful sunset and slow sunrise. Endless greenery and life. Hermione could breathe in air so fresh it felt like she could live forever, and listen to rain so loud she could hardly hear herself think.

There was a silent, picturesque beauty that couldn't be duplicated.

Winters that should have been exclusively dark and desolate were light. Springs were promising and transformative. Summers were full of growth, life, and hard work. And autumns were crisp, yet refreshing enough to enjoy a hot tea while bundled in a blanket. Blending during the transition between seasons was even better.

Like now.

Winter had begun its slow march towards spring in a series of steps, both forward and backward, that started with unseasonable warmth last week. The chill that had returned in the last few days didn't inspire the confidence Hermione needed to undo the cloches over her row of root plants.

Maybe next week.

She looked around at row after row of covered vegetation planted together in groups. Three sets of plants on each row on two aisles, separated by a cobblestone walkway that led to the small greenhouse, which was larger on the inside, thanks to the only magic she used on her garden. Around the perimeter of her vegetable patch there was a variety of flowering bushes, all mulched to keep them safe from the cold.

All was silent and well… except for the young chickens in their coop that were celebrating their first couple of days outside her bathtub. And so was she.

If someone had told Hermione seven years ago that she would be an ex-employee of the Ministry, she would have laughed in their face and deemed them mad before running off to her next meeting. Had another person told her that she'd have an extensive vegetable patch with chickens and live with no neighbors for kilometres… she would have argued with them that she would never _ever_ leave her central London flat.

But she had and here she was.

Life had a way of adjusting her priorities while simultaneously crumbling all of her expectations about how her plans would turn out until it was nothing but dust. Ash.

It had been hard to see initially, but now she knew of the beauty in the breakdown. The joy found in discovering her true self and restoring her strength, courage, and determination. It had been necessary, but Hermione had cleared away the rot and negative decay of her old life in order to create the space needed for new growth.

And she had grown.

_Was still growing._

Hermione turned when her wards notified her of both the end of her quiet time and the arrival of someone she hadn't expected.

Daphne Greengrass-Thomas.

She was dressed in layers due to the chill in the air, but not enough to hide the fact that she was five months pregnant and generally irritated with everyone. Hermione didn't blink twice when she stormed out the door armed with a fork and a pie. She thought even _less_ about her mood when Daphne sat on the magical swing with a huff and began aggressively eating while it slowly brought her to Hermione's side.

Recognition dawned when the swing stopped and she actually _looked_ at said pie.

It was rhubarb.

"I made that for Pi Day." The serrated glare Hermione received in return told her that she would be making another, which made her sigh with resignation. "Did you at least bring me a fork?"

As it turned out, Daphne did. Apparently she was in the mood to share both the food (that wasn't hers to begin with) _and_ her feelings—the latter still more of a shock than the former.

In the years since Daphne had eloped with Dean in a move _no one_ had seen coming, she had never been one to share her innermost thoughts and had a tendency to internalise everything. But then her entire world flipped upside down when she found out about her pregnancy and lost her sister within the same week. The combination had shaken her to the very core, and she'd emerged from the aftermath as someone more inclined to share.

Which was where Hermione came in.

Probably due to needing an outlet or at the direction of her therapist, sometimes she would show up and sit on Hermione's swing. Sometimes she talked. Sometimes they sat in silence. She never knew why Daphne sought refuge there, but she had never turned her away. Today, she wanted to talk.

"I went to visit my nephew."

"Oh?" Hermione replied in a detached manner as she forked a piece of pie. It had come out just right. "And how did that go?" Admittedly, she knew very little about Daphne's contention with the Malfoys—in particular, Narcissa—but knew very well it had to do with her nephew, Scorpius.

"It went so well that I'm _here_ to keep myself from going back and yelling at every adult Malfoy. Even Draco." Hermione internally winced, but chewed while nodding along. "As it stands, it was either yelling or an emergency appointment with my therapist. You just happened to be home, and as the most sensible and least compromised by the situation, I figured I would come here. We'll sit here in silence, you'll say something wise, and the urge to yell will pass."

"Is that all I need to do?" Hermione smirked at the blonde witch. "I should try that when Harry's whinging about Malfoy."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You can try, but I doubt it'll work." She looked around and chuckled. "Not even the level of zen you've achieved out here with your herb garden, chickens, and isolation can ease the friction between those two."

Hermione hummed in agreement. The swing took them slightly higher, feet farther from the earth. They continued sharing the pie that was still warm from the charms, though Daphne ate most of it. Silence wasn't unusual with her, but the energy Daphne gave off didn't mix with the serenity surrounding them.

"You should probably relax before you talk about it," Hermione said after chewing on a piece of baked rhubarb. "I'm no doula, but I'm certain your stress affects the baby."

"That's why I'm here. I think we all agree that your house is like a refuge." Which made sense because everyone ended up at her home at some given point of the day or week. Even Theo had been known to come sit in her conservatory for tea.

Hermione rolled her shoulders. "Well, seeking refuge is how I ended up out here anyway."

The two witches exchanged meaningful looks. It wasn't long before Daphne was ready to speak about what had upset her. "I _know_ that child-rearing is one of the few aspects of pureblood culture that is exclusively matriarchal, but every time I see Scorpius' rigid routine, every time I see him bow, everytime I see him withdraw, I want to shake some sense into Narcissa and tell Draco that enough is enough."

Wisely, she kept her mouth shut. Listened.

"I know he won't." Daphne sighed. "He _can't._ Not now with everything happening. He has security for all the reasons he should be as paranoid as he is, but I'd like it if he did."

Hermione wondered if she missed something because the pieces weren't fitting together. "If he did what exactly?"

"Take the first step."

* * *

_**March 15, 2011** _

In some ways, the war ended the night Voldemort fell.

But in other ways, it didn't. It merely changed dimensions.

History had taught Hermione that while the death of one man _could_ start a war, it couldn't _end_ a war. The best way to end a conflict was through absolute victory; for them to push to the finish without letting up and to _never_ let the enemy hide and recover. That _should_ have happened when several Death Eaters had escaped and scattered following the Battle of Hogwarts.

But it didn't.

The Ministry didn't have the power or the numbers to round up all of the Death Eaters. So many witches and wizards were dead or missing, tortured or traumatised, too young to understand the enormity of the task before them and the grit needed to push themselves through the hard time and prevail.

Harry included.

Shacklebolt, as Interim Minister, had _tried_ to organise a mission to strike the final blow, but during the post-war chaos, the newly-reformed Wizengamot had quietly stripped the position of majority of its power by invoking an obscure, old law, which gave _them_ power above all during times of civil unrest for up to ten years unless ended through a vote. Essentially, it turned the government into an oligarchy.

A few to rule the many.

Kingsley had reasoned with them to restore the power of the position, but the last Minister had been responsible for heinous war crimes, an _actual_ puppet to a homicidal tyrant. So when a vote was called to repeal the law, the required two-thirds hadn't been in favour of restoring the Minister's power before the ten year deadline.

Not just yet.

The move truly wouldn't have been an issue had they learned from their history and not made the same mistakes as their predecessors, had they remembered how damaging it was to ignore a problem rather than face it head on. Instead of offering their support during Shacklebolt's attempts at capturing the escaped Death Eaters, they overruled everything he tried to do, offering only a small bandage to fix the gaping hole in their world and doing nothing to cauterise the wound.

It _really_ shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone when, rather than drop the Interim from his title two years after the war, Kingsley Shacklebolt had announced that he was retiring.

Effective immediately.

News of his exit spread far and wide, and criticism of the Ministry had quickly followed. The Wizengamot had asked him to reconsider, but his mind was already made up. Disillusioned after their many rejections and tired after losing so many of his friends, Kingsley never answered any of the media's questions about the circumstances surrounding his retirement. He did answer Hermione on his final day, when she'd stood in his empty office next to Harry and asked about his future plans.

She'd expected something cliched like travelling or visiting his family.

What she got instead was: "I've always wanted to be a beekeeper."

To her surprise, Kingsley bought a small patch of land and did just that.

Their paths hadn't crossed again until Hermione began experiencing root problems for the first time soon after she'd expanded her vegetable patch. Neville had given her a book on the benefits of honey that had a note with an address and an appointment time tucked inside.

From the book, Hermione had learned just how _little_ she knew about honey—namely, that it was a solution to her problem. From Kingsley, she'd found a willing supplier.

His farm wasn't very large, a nice walk away from his house. He had a total of nine hives: two were new since her last visit in March and a third needed a lot of rehab before the honey would be viable. Hermione always brought money for the jars of honey he provided, but he never took it, so she started bringing him vegetables instead. Bartering.

That day, she brought onions, broccoli, rhubarb, garlic, morel mushrooms, and not to forget, his favourite—liquorice wands. Together, they sat outside, enjoying both their sweets and the tepid humidity that preceded the storm rolling in from the south. Hermione could see the wooden hive boxes in his growing apiary that was protected from wildlife by various deterrent wards whose slight shimmer she could make out if she squinted.

She kept her jacket on, but not buttoned, while she relaxed in his comfortable outdoor chair and put her feet on the stool in front of her. Kingsley still wore his purple beekeeping coverall, but had his veil up so he could enjoy his sweets.

"The bees are quiet today." Kingsley broke the peaceful silence between them. "I think the storm coming will be a bad one. You should take precautions with your garden."

"I already have."

He nodded, still looking in the distance at his bees. "Good."

Silence fell once more and Hermione took the time to enjoy the breeze, watching as the trees swayed in the distance. She never intended to stay long, but always did because it was nice there and she was rarely in a rush to get moving.

Kingsley was the sort of wizard who knew his purpose. He was no longer Minister, but was still a fighter, a guide, and a pillar of strength. He had such a confident and calming presence about him. Even when they had been fighting for their lives, high off the ground when they'd escaped from the Dursley's home with Harry, she had never once worried about whether they were going to make it.

She just _knew._

"I'm thinking of starting a garden for my bees." Kingsley looked at her as he quirked his brow inquisitively. "Any ideas?"

Hermione had several and was mentally creating a low maintenance medicinal herb garden, going so far as to determine the height, width, and placement of the planters boxes. "I read in a book that thyme, apple mint, oregano, echinacea, borage, chamomile, nasturtium, and a few others are good for keeping disease and other insects away from your bees. You'll need flowers, as well."

At the recommendation, her thoughts expanded.

"It would need to be large with plenty of pollen producing plants: annuals and perennials mixed in with the herbs." A brief look of confusion passed, which made her chuckle. He didn't know much about flowers. "Also, unless you have a love for gardening that I'm not privy to, it will need to be self-sufficient."

"I'd like that." Kingsley had a thoughtful look on his face, taking another bite of his liquorice wand. "I trust your judgment."

She felt honoured by his faith in her, and looked forward to helping him make his vision a reality, but she had limitations. "It's an extensive project. Far too large for a single person. I can ask Neville to help. He has several apprentices that would be interested in a project like this. For _you_."

There were still plenty of people out there who wanted to live in the world that he had proposed while he was Interim Minister, a world that the Wizengamot had rejected in favour of their own.

While Kinglsey had been Interim, they had given him just enough support so no one could accuse them of outright neglecting the very real threat of Death Eaters after Voldemort's demise, but nothing more. And instead of snuffing out the enduring enemy of peace, the Wizengamot decided that the Ministry should focus its efforts on recovery and restoration in an attempt at getting things back to normal as soon as possible.

In theory, it had been a good idea. Society had been shattered into so many tiny fragments that it was hard to tell what it once had been—long before either war.

In practice, not so much.

They hadn't accounted for the societal changes brought about by war. It would truly take generations to fix the mess that had been made in such a short amount of time. They could pass as many laws as they wanted to assist with rebuilding, but they couldn't fix what the people had gone through.

Also, there had been the small, very true thing about those in the Wizengamot…

They weren't elected by the people they promised to protect, acquiring their seats in a variety of means, including inheritance. They were also human, flawed, and had a different incentive for governance. One that was ultimately based on a desire to rebuild their own lives and businesses under the guise of fixing society…

For their own greater good.

And that hadn't changed much over the years.

"How is Harry doing?" Kingsley gave her a meaningful look. Because Hermione knew one of his only regrets in quitting was leaving their friend behind. "He seemed stressed the last time he was here."

She took a bite of her liquorice wand and chewed. "He's… Harry." She smiled with a fond shake of her head. "Still trying to do the right thing against all odds." And they were stacked pretty high against him.

Hermione helped whenever she could, but ultimately, he had to work with what they'd given him. Which wasn't much: just an underfunded department of weary Aurors, a task to round up all the Death Eaters, and the responsibility to partner with the Terrorism Task Force whose leadership had been questionable at best until about a year and a half ago.

"How are his efforts with the Death Eaters?"

"About the same as ever," Hermione answered honestly. "But they've managed to get someone on the inside and there's a raid being planned, so I hope something pans out before Harry and Malfoy kill each other."

Kingsley made a small noise from the back of his throat, looking out in the distance at the approaching storm clouds. "I'm _still_ trying to make sense of the reasoning behind that particular decision." As was she, but it wasn't her business. "However, Draco Malfoy did pass Auror training in France _and_ was responsible for capturing Rookwood there and shutting down that particular terror cell. He crippled them."

Well, that was… _true._

Hermione swallowed her candy. "It's the _least_ he could do. He used to _be_ one."

No judgment, just a statement of fact that Kingsley gave a contemplative hum to in response.

"From the accounts I've heard and the memories I've seen, it wasn't _exactly_ by choice. It might have started that way, because of what happened to his father and the ruination of his family's name, but it definitely didn't end that way." He stared at his partly eaten liquorice wand, talking more to himself than her. "He had no idea what he was in for."

That she couldn't deny—the haunted and defeated look on his face when he'd hesitated to identify them at Malfoy Manor had stuck in her mind. Well, that was until the Cruciatus Curse smothered all those thoughts.

"I suspect it is quite lonely to be Draco Malfoy right now. Or at any point in his life. He's been fighting to save the future, to atone for his mistakes, but no one—not even _you_ —can see beyond his past."

Which was a sobering thought. It humbled her and brought about a tightening in her chest and a queasy feeling in her belly.

_Guilt._

In her defence, Hermione hadn't thought about it— _or him_ —again until his trial.

She hadn't even _seen_ him since, only heard about him in periodic whispers over the years as her circle grew to include some of his oldest and closest friends. It was only then that someone else—Pansy or Daphne—mentioned him by name. But they never said much, often, or around her. At least not on purpose. They were fiercely protective of him. Hermione had learned that the hard way early on with Daphne. And then more recently with Pansy. Even in the last three months, Theo would give her a disapproving look whenever she voiced an unfavourable opinion of Malfoy as it pertained to his new-ish working relationship with Harry.

Which was something that had left her incredulously blinking when the news had broken.

The world hadn't decided if Draco Malfoy was a hero, villain, or a little of both.

In France, he had been viewed as an anti-hero of sorts. Not seen much in the public, but his actions spoke louder. They didn't know much about either Wizarding War—seeing it as a British problem until the threat of the Death Eaters knocked on their door six years after the war. It had been then, when Draco Malfoy, who had secretly become an Auror, single-handedly organised the French Ministry's fight against them, driving them back where they had come from.

News of his successes and the captures of high ranking Death Eaters reached her ears via the Prophet. And Harry. The media had initially been flummoxed, but then redemption stories started sprouting here and there in the subsequent years. Nothing memorable or even outside the shadow of his more famous mother, but when he returned last year in July and took over as the Head of the Terrorism Task Force, the media went wild.

And when they caught wind that, with Harry's promotion to Head of the Auror's office last month, the old enemies would now be working together… _Harry_ hated the exposure that it brought almost as much as he hated working with Draco Malfoy, who he claimed was the bane of his existence.

Just like old times.

"Regardless," Kingsley's calm voice cut through the silence, "I would still pay good money to see their strategy meetings." And with another chuckle, he continued enjoying his candy.

Hermione scoffed. "I can safely say everyone likes Harry over Malfoy."

Kingsley gave her a look. "It's not his job to be _liked_ , Hermione. It's his job to coordinate with Harry to put an end to the Death Eaters. It's not an easy job, even if he had the tools he needed, because while people respect him in public, they spit on his name in private. Perplexing, given the universal love for his mother. Furthermore, the enemy wants to _personally_ make an example out of him and his family. Harry should be able to empathise. Their children receive the same threats."

With some hesitancy, she acknowledged that perhaps he might have a point.

However, at the same time, it sometimes amazed her that thirteen years later, they were _still_ talking about Death Eaters.

It had a lot to do with the Wizengamot's inaction, and how it led to the Death Eaters managing to regroup, rallying behind the Lestrange brothers and other survivors of Voldemort's inner circle. Attacks and murders started again not long after the final battle, disorganised initially, but as time passed and they continued to evade capture or death, their confidence and recklessness had grown. Azkaban escapes became a common occurrence again once the Dementors had been banished.

The Ministry insisted they had full control of the situation and some people, desperate to believe in something after so much misery, believed them. And when the skirmishes between the partly inexperienced Aurors and the Death Eaters began to increase in both frequency and severity, the Ministry started suppressing the news. Just like before.

However, _unlike_ before, the journalists were bolder.

And just when the cries of the people rose to a crescendo, all hell broke loose at Malfoy Manor on the first Christmas after the Battle of Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy had just enough time to call in the Aurors before he died protecting his family. The ensuing battle had been such a deadly affair that once the dust settled and everyone retreated, everything _stopped._

The weakened Death Eaters retreated and went into hiding. And _again_ , the opportunity for the Aurors to give chase had come. Shacklebolt had begged the Wizengamot's permission to hunt them down and snuff them out once and for all, but was overruled in favour of keeping guard of the peace they had obtained in their victory.

It took one year after the battle at Malfoy Manor for the attacks to start _again_. That time, the Wizengamot _finally_ decided to listen to Shacklebolt, who had already quit, and created a task force to investigate the whereabouts of Death Eaters and coordinate with the Auror Department to shut each of them down. The same task force Draco Malfoy now led.

In Hermione's opinion, the action came too late.

The Death Eaters were more organised than ever, their violence louder even in the silence. Their message of hate remained the same: they sought to continue Voldemort's mission of protecting the purity of blood from those deemed unworthy.

Bigotry was, after all, still the silent poison of the wizarding world.

But as the years passed, the Death Eaters had gotten smarter, shifting their missives to include anti-Ministry rhetoric, which drew interest from those who had been neutral during the war and still lost everything. Those that, despite the economic boom after the war and the restoration of society, no longer trusted the Ministry.

And there were plenty.

Time could heal some wounds, but not all. Memories were not so easily forgotten, even through the passage of time. Memories were unique; the more powerful they were, the harder they imprinted themselves on someone's souls. And the memories of the Ministry's past failings were etched next to the names of those they had lost, those who were broken, and those who were still struggling.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "A little bird told me that they offered you a position to lead the Investigation Department." It was still funny how much Kingsley knew about the going ons at the Ministry. Most times he knew more than she did. Hermione found herself interested to know the identity of his source. "It seems they are trying to fast track you up the Magical Law Enforcement ladder."

So _that_ had been the position they were offering?

Hermione scoffed. "I never looked. I just declined." At that, Kingsley chuckled, shaking his head, humoured by the stubbornness he knew all too well. She rolled her eyes with a small smile on her face. "I was only just beginning to make the transition between the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and into Magical Law Enforcement when I quit. Not only am I not qualified, I'm also not interested."

Kingsley side-eyed her in that way of his. "I'm fairly certain you're more qualified than anyone in that department. You don't need experience to lead, Hermione. I think the current state of the Ministry can attest to that."

" _You_ could always go back to change that." She levelled him with a challenging look of her own as the suggestion she had only ever thought about in the privacy of her own mind was laid out before she could rein it back in. "There are people who still support you. _I_ still support you. Harry does, too. You could restore order. Percy is looking up old laws that would restore power to the Minister. There's always a way."

Initially, he didn't respond, finishing the last bit of his liquorice quill. "I quite like my bees."

"Who says you can't have both?"

Kingsley considered her words. "What about you, Hermione?"

"What about me?"

"You would make an excellent Minister for Magic one day, should you ever decide to return. I've always thought that about you, and it has very little to do with your brilliance. It's always been about your moral code, your compassion, and your determination to make things right." He paused as if choosing his words wisely. "I understand your reasons for leaving, just as you have always been understanding of mine…"

She glanced at him sceptically. "I feel there is a _'but'_ coming."

Kingsley laughed to himself, shoulders shaking with humour. "Nothing ever gets past you, does it? Your observation skills are as keen as ever." He shook his head, as if answering his own question. "I _do_ wonder if your hesitance to return has little to do with the powers that be and more to do with fear of… perhaps a second failure?"

When she said nothing in response, only stared out in the distance, listening, he reached over and tapped the arm of her chair with his large hand in an act of attempted comfort.

"It's okay to be afraid, Hermione. You know what isn't okay? Letting that fear stop you."

Hermione reflected on his words for several long minutes. "I don't consider my time at the Ministry—or even what happened that led me to quit—as any sort of failure. I have zero regrets, both about leaving or failing to return. I think what happened gave me the perspective I needed to sort my priorities and acknowledge the truth that I'm just as human as anyone else. It allowed me to set my own course and help people who need it along the way, which is what I do now at the hospital."

"Have you figured out where you're going yet?"

She thought about her current commitments, ruminating over the offer she hadn't humoured and the case Theo seemed so keen on her accepting. For the first time in longer than she could recall, Hermione had no idea where she was going.

"No, but if I'm lucky, maybe I'll know where I'm going when I get there."

_Everything must have a beginning…_

_and that beginning must be linked to something that went before._

**Mary Shelley**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my slow burn, my nothing to something to everything fic. It's gonna be a marathon, not a sprint, as there are lots of moving pieces. So if you're looking for a sprint, this isn't it. 
> 
> The title and premise are inspired by three quotes:
> 
> "To measure the man, measure his heart." - Malcolm Forbes.  
> "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy." -MLK Jr.  
> "Of all things the measure is Man, of the things that are, that they are, and of the things that are not, that they are not."-Protagoras (Or "Man is the measure of all things.")
> 
> Thanks to my alpha Bailey4047 and my beta dreamsofdramione for smoothing out my stream of consciousness and holding my hand through this process. Thanks to my cheerleading section, you know who you are, and you are highly appreciated. And thanks to anyone who reads and enjoys my little love project.


	2. Pay It Forward

**Two  
** _Pay It Forward_

_**March 16, 2011** _

Hermione's father was a quiet, pragmatic man. His love of whiskey, jazz music, and painting were quite out of character for his conservative nature.

Before a Hogwarts representative had given Hermione the letter that would alter the course of her life, she spent her early evenings watching her dad work on his labour of love.

His craft.

When they arrived home after her parents finished at the office, he would change into dungarees, pour himself a finger of whiskey, and retreat to his art room while her mum prepared dinner from her Julia Child's cookbook—substituting ingredients she couldn't be bothered with. Her phone was always pressed to her ear as she chatted away with friends near and far; her laughter shook the spiralled phone cord that stretched across the kitchen.

Hermione, who spent her afternoons after school completing assignments in her parents' dental practice while the receptionist looked on and praised her brilliance, would change into comfortable clothes and sit with her feet tucked under her in the armchair—always with a book of some sort.

Her dad would ask her about her day as it pertained to her grades and assignments, and let her prattle on while he prepared his paints and provided the appropriate feedback. Hermione knew that conversation was over when he sipped his drink for the first time, turned on the old record player he'd had since university, and picked up his brush to work on his latest creation.

Her father had never taken a single lesson… and it showed.

His work was _terrible_ , but he never cared.

And neither did she.

What kept Hermione coming every day was something that happened at the strangest of times.

It had nothing to do with the whiskey—she wasn't old enough to drink it anyway. Nothing to do with the music; she didn't like jazz in the same way she didn't like Celestine Warbeck. As a child, Hermione found the music old, incomprehensible, and not so melodic. And he wasn't a skilled painter, but sometimes, when her dad was absorbed in the murky undertones of a piano as the saxophone and singer soothed his soul, sipping that glass of amber liquor, he would make broad strokes with his paintbrush and _talk_.

Not about anything in particular, just whatever came to mind.

Unless a football game was on, her dad was a quiet and thoughtful man, not social by any means, with only a few close friends. Always thinking and enjoying the quiet in his own mind until he was ready to interact with the rest of the world, it was difficult to get to know him. So, it was the little moments of openness that stuck with Hermione over the years; she kept them in her heart and leveraged them as part of her determined efforts during the long Horcrux hunt.

It was also in those moments when she felt like she knew her dad best.

He mostly gave advice about life: _Stay true to yourself. Don't ever stop learning and growing._

Things she would remember for years: _Create certainty, but leave room for unexpected._

He told stories she'd never heard about her grandparents who had died before she was born: _You have my mother's hair and my father's spirit._

He told her stories about her mum and stories from while they were dating: _Your mother sat next to me in school and talked incessantly. I only kissed her the first time to shut her up._

He sometimes told her stories of herself from before she could remember: _When you were upset, all the cabinet doors would open and shut. I think we knew then that you were special._

But on very rare occasions, he talked about nothing that ended up being _something_.

" _Love is never what we expect it to be."_ She remembered it from one day during summer holiday while Billie Holliday played on the record player. _"It's bizarre, enigmatic, and doesn't make sense to anyone. Why do you think so many people write songs on the subject? Change their lives for it?"_

Now that her parents were retired, and their lucrative practice was sold, her dad still painted and listened to jazz on the same record player when they weren't travelling…

But he no longer showed bits of himself to her. No longer told her stories.

Not like he once had.

It was yet another thing that time and the ever-growing distance between Hermione and her parents had changed. But his silence hadn't stopped her from sitting with him during her visits; hadn't stopped her from watching him like she once had, with a book on her lap as she listened to music she still didn't care for as an adult.

It didn't stop her from waiting for another opportunity to see him.

Her father's skills had improved greatly now that he had more time to devote to his craft… _and_ had actually begun taking classes. His style was a clean mix of abstract, geometric, layered designs that he'd just started showing their friends instead of binning. He'd even sold one or two.

He'd never offered one of his paintings and she never asked.

Just like all the others, the painting session that day ended with her mother calling them for dinner.

Hermione ate with them once every few weeks in an attempt to keep her family from completely crumbling at her feet. She spent her time inwardly cringing from the tense smiles aimed at her, wondering just how they'd gotten to that point.

Well, actually, she knew.

It started when she returned their memories and tearfully tried to explain everything, including why they were in Australia of all places. While they understood the reason for the choice she made and forgave her, they chose to stay in Australia. Their only form of communication was monthly phone calls where they would politely ask her to visit and Hermione would decline. She knew they didn't mean it.

They did, however, return six years ago to help her sort through her own crisis, but the damage had long since been done. The divide between them was too great. Still, Hermione was diligent and kept trying, carrying the hope that one day she would finish construction on the bridge that would close the distance between them. Until then, Hermione joined her parents for a meal of roasted chicken and a boiled cabbage that she'd grown in her garden.

Most of the time, her mother wasn't the best cook. She hated following recipes and sometimes left out vital ingredients. Sometimes her alterations worked, but often, like tonight, they didn't. Her dad was used to it; his palate had adjusted over the years, so he ate his dry chicken and overcooked cabbage without complaint. Hermione followed suit like a dutiful daughter, but made sure to leave _plenty_ of room for dessert.

 _That_ was where her mother excelled, and Hermione was keen on her bread and butter pudding.

"Next time you come for dinner," her mother said as they ate, "make sure you pick a day when Ron can come with you. He's such a sweet man and quite amusing." She chuckled in a motherly sort of way that reminded her of Mrs Weasley when she was thinking about something pleasant. "I think he loves my dessert as much as he loves you."

And _that_ was the subject of their biggest disagreement to date.

" _Mum_ ," Hermione groaned while cutting into her chicken. "We're just friends."

That was all they would ever be.

She and Ron had reached the point where they had been apart longer than they had been together, yet her mother still hadn't let it go. In truth, neither had Ron, which complicated matters further as their lives were heavily entwined. He was her best friend, his family was like her own, and therefore, he would always be an important part of her life.

Just not in the way he wanted.

It had taken three years for Hermione to realise that, in addition to the fact that they weren't well-suited and had wildly different interests and opinions on basically everything, Ron wanted her in a box that she couldn't fit in. A box where he could take out the parts that he loved about her, and leave the rest.

He was traditional. He wanted her to take on those roles that she had no interest in.

And she wanted a partner, not a project.

Hermione grew tired of apologising for who she was, and stifling herself to avoid arguments. Even with the knowledge that no relationship was perfect, Hermione had a nagging feeling that she was settling rather than compromising. And it ate at her. It ate at her until she stopped trying to force herself to fight for something she didn't actually want in the end.

"I know, but he was _so_ good for you."

Hermione didn't agree. When she glanced over at her father, who continued chewing while pretending to be engaged, she swore she saw just a _hint_ of his disagreement, too. It was hard to tell, but for the purpose of her ongoing efforts to keep the peace, Hermione changed the subject. "How was Morocco?"

She continued eating as she listened to her mother tell stories of their trip while her father provided the occasional comment that usually involved correcting her mild exaggerations with a fond look on his face. It was her mother's way, after all. Her mother had always been sharp and lively, even more so now that she was older. She talked with her hands, and though she appeared wrapped up in her stories, her mother always kept an eye out for their reactions.

"We're going to Greece in early June. We're going to stay by the water."

They travelled a lot now that they had the time and financial freedom. They always went somewhere warm by the water because years in Australia had spoiled them for it.

"That sounds lovely."

Her mum served her dad another helping of chicken. "When was the last time you took a vacation?"

Hermione scratched her temple with the nail of her forefinger. "I went to Madrid with a few friends."

 _Over three years ago_ before Ginny was too far along with Lily to travel.

"That's nice." Her father nodded as he took a drink of water. "Travelling is good for your health."

And he left it at that.

Dinner progressed and Hermione forced a smile at their stilted attempts at making conversation—not knowing what they could discuss and what had been deemed off limits. It felt like she was sharing a meal with strangers, chatting about bland, predictable topics like the weather, her mum's wine tasting event with her friends the next day, her dad's growing interest in bird watching, and Hermione's plans for expanding a garden her parents still hadn't been to her house to see.

And though she hated the distance, it was better than the alternative of not seeing them at all. At least that was what she told herself as she grinned and bore the awkwardness, all while knowing and accepting her own fault in the breakdown.

As the only witch in their family, her parents had always had a certain level of trust in her. Trust that she wouldn't use magic to cheat the system, to solve every little problem, or hurt those with no way to fight back—no matter if that pain was caused by her wand or her actions. And she'd irreparably broken that trust when she'd altered their memories. They _had_ forgiven her, but therapy taught her that forgiveness wasn't the end of the process, it was the beginning of a new relationship, which continued to be shaped by the very actions that had needed forgiving in the first place.

Whenever she caught subtle hints of their wariness, it was a harsh reminder of the road she was on towards reconciliation. Humility was something she was still working on, and not letting her own guilt blind her to progress she had made. Sometimes, when it returned with a vengeance, all Hermione could think about was how they'd never get back to where they once were. How it would always be a terrible thing between them—like a bacterium infecting her plants that only made its presence known with yellowing leaves and wilt.

But then she had to remind herself what she did when that happened—the extra care she had to take with each plant, the work she had to put in, and how in the end, her garden was healthier for it. More resilient.

She had to utilize that same care with her parents.

Hermione was laying the groundwork with each dinner, each visit, and every interaction. No matter how the distance made her feel, she knew she had to be as patient with them as she was with her garden, knew she had to keep coming for weekday dinners, keep offering yields from her garden for her mum to experiment with, and keep watching her dad paint and listen to jazz music. She had to keep the gate of communication open so they could come in, should they choose.

Maybe, one day, they would come in and stay awhile.

Until then, she would keep working.

When dinner concluded, Hermione helped her mother with the dishes while her dad wiped down the countertops and put away the extras. He finished first and gave her mum a quick kiss and Hermione a quick hug before disappearing into the sitting room to watch a bit of telly. With the sound of a football match as background music, they worked together, Hermione washing and her mum organising each dish in the dishwasher she had to have, but only used for drying.

"Your dad is concerned for you," her mum said in an almost conspiratorial whisper as she grouped the forks together. "He doesn't think it's good that you're alone so far out in the country."

She furrowed her brows. Her dad? Concerned? She couldn't tell. "I like the peace." Hermione shrugged. "I can Floo or Apparate anywhere I need to go."

Her mother pulled a face, much like she always did when she used wizarding terminology. "Why can't you opt for some place closer to the city? There are plenty of options in Surrey. You would be closer to us, if anything should happen. It would ease his worries."

"My vegetable patch wouldn't fit." Her parents would understand that if they visited, but she bit her tongue on the matter.

Hermione lived in a cottage too large for one person on land she protected under wards. The closest wizarding town was Godric's Hollow, and it wasn't close at all. There was not a neighbour in sight. Her house had been quite dilapidated when the realtor reluctantly showed it to her, but there was charm and potential that she'd loved at first sight.

She basically paid for the land and got the house free; the work needed was extensive. Her parents thought the purchase was foolish, as she'd just quit her job in the Ministry, but Hermione converted half of her Gringotts account—with her _extensive_ savings from years of being thrifty and leftover war compensation funds—into pounds and used it to pay off the loan _and_ the contractors for their work.

In truth, she could have done it with magic, but watching their daily progress gave her something to focus on. They tore out unseen rot and carefully carved away the original stone, rebuilding it back to the point where the outside looked the same, but the inside was all new.

It was a metaphor she couldn't ignore.

The vegetable patch had originally been a therapy assignment she'd started not long after construction finished to occupy her time and manage her stress. Her house was not yet furnished when Neville came by with a few young plants as a gift and an idea was born. Pretty soon, he was coming over weekly to show her how to build garden boxes, cultivate the land, what to plant, and where to plant it. She started reading books, planning, growing…

It gave her purpose.

After her first harvest, she and Neville sat in the pasture past her garden and gorged themselves on unwashed tomatoes. And when she shed cathartic tears, he didn't judge her. He just let her cry and reminded her that this was the first harvest of many more to come.

Hermione's house meant more to her than she could convey, and she hated that her parents didn't understand. So, she kept washing dishes, forearm-deep in warm, sudsy water when her mother revisited the topic Hermione thought she had properly circumvented. "I meant what I said about Ron, you should bring him when you come next time. More than that, you should reconsider him."

Just because she was trying to mend the gap didn't mean she would stifle herself on that particular topic. "You've made your opinion about that quite clear over the last six years."

"I'll keep saying it until you listen. You won't find anyone better, not with the sort of life you live." It wasn't said to be offensive or hurtful, it was just a fact. "Your work is very involved, Hermione. No man—wizard or not—will understand your level of commitment to your patients like he does."

Hermione almost laughed, but passed over the plate she'd just washed instead before starting on the cups. Ron had just gotten to the point in his life where he'd found his own footing outside of his large and now-distinguished family, but because he'd had to share so much in his younger years, he never liked sharing her. He was always insecure about his rank and role in her life.

Now that they were broken up and he was working with George to develop new products for the ever-expanding joke shop, and now that she was no longer on track to become the youngest Minister of Magic, he seemed more settled around her. Not as irritated when people sought her out over him. Now that she wasn't so busy or important, Ron wanted to try again as though her schedule had been the proximate cause of their breakup from the start.

It wasn't.

Rather than provide her mother with a detailed character analysis on Ron, Hermione opted for a response that would throw herself into a deeper pit, but at least it would be a _different_ one. "You're right. My commitment _is_ to my work. In fact, I'm so committed that I'm not looking for anything right now."

"You're not getting any younger."

Hermione turned her head, eyes narrowed in calculation. Her mother was just under thirty when Hermione was born. Her parents had wanted to be established in their careers first. Pot meet kettle. "I believe _you_ wanted to have a career first. I'm just like you in that respect."

Because her mother would never admit that Hermione was right, she continued on without responding to the factual statement. "While I love Harry's children, I'd like to have my _own_ grandchildren at some point."

"I'll have to meet the right person for that." Little did her mom know that with the way Theo was trying to convince her to take on a potential five-year contract, that didn't seem likely.

"You already have."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her mother had always been very clever at guiding a conversation in the direction of her choosing. She passed her the final cup to rinse and arrange in the dishwasher she only ever used to dry dishes. "We'll have to agree to disagree."

"For now."

They tabled the conversation for another day and, once her mum finished arranging everything, she shut the dishwasher. Hermione drained the sink, wiping it with the dish towel until the water was completely gone. While she wrung out the wet cloth, her mother put on the electric kettle for tea. Hermione had brought ginger tea from her own collection after her mum complained of a stomach ache during their phone call last night. She went to sit at the table and her mother joined her after drying her hands and pouring the boiling water into the teapot to steep.

Tea first. Dessert second.

Her mother looked over her shoulder at the kettle before she stiffly asked, "How are you?"

 _Mentally_ was the unspoken word at the end of her question.

Trust issues aside, she was still her mother. And as a mother, by right, she always worried. Her mum was the daughter of a doctor and a dentist herself, so while mental health wasn't exactly a taboo subject, it was one that she approached with caution. Not that it mattered. It always put Hermione on edge regardless; it was just another one of those sore topics neither of them wanted to discuss because of the bad memories that it evoked in them both.

She kept her response simple. "I'm fine."

"You're not working too hard, are you?"

"No, mum. I'm currently between patients." Her last was an Auror who, thanks to experimental treatment, had been revived after being Death Eater ambushed early last year. It was a four-month assignment where she worked one-on-one to get him not only physically and mentally healthy, but accustomed to his new normal with the family that had never given up on him. Last week, she'd transitioned him to the care of another Healer who would do routine follow-ups, alerting Hermione only if needed.

"Good." Silence fell between them as her dad's complaints over the game filtered in from the sitting room. Arsenal must have been losing again. For a brief moment, she smirked, reminded of Ron and his love for the always-losing Cannons.

The kettle whistled and when her mother went to make tea for them both, Hermione rested her hand on her arm. "Let it steep longer with the ginger root. Another ten minutes or so."

With a nod, her mum continued with their conversation. "You're making sure you eat, right?"

Hermione sighed. "I am."

"And sleeping?"

"Eight hours a night." She paused, then said, "I'm not going to fall apart, Mum."

 _Not again_.

At the memory, Hermione visibly winced, instantly agitated. In truth, she didn't care for any reminder of what had happened—not that she could remember it anyway. Now, she had to contend with the questions and looks, the concern and worries—not just from her mother, but from those closest to her as well.

The entire incident felt like a dream, an encounter that had happened to someone else. Not her. Hermione thought she was stronger; thought she could push herself to the brink and still maintain control. She thought herself invincible when, in fact, she was only human. The lesson she had learned had been humbling.

"I know you won't. You've been doing well." Her mother started to reach for her hand resting on the table, but faltered, placing her hand on top of the other. Hermione thought about completing the action and reaching for her, but hesitation was her current best friend, so she didn't. "You look like you've lost weight."

"I haven't."

"Okay, but I still worry, Hermione."

Frustration—mainly at herself—slipped past her lips during a moment she'd left herself unguarded. "I'm _fine_ ," she said curtly. She regretted it when her mother's face darkened and she straightened in her chair. Immediately chastened, Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry, I just—"

Her mother held up a hand. "I pushed too hard."

"It's not that, Mum," she said in barely a whisper as she looked down at the table. "Thank you for your concern. Everything is fine. I'm taking care of myself."

"Are you still attending therapy sessions?"

"As needed… and I haven't needed to in a while."

A moment of silence passed before she nodded, accepting Hermione's answer. Then her mother's line of questioning shifted. "And the threats?" Because one of their terms had been full disclosure, her parents knew all about them.

"There was another one this past week." She didn't want to detail everything that had happened, but she knew she had to tell her mother something. "It was an escalation from their normal methods."

Worry etched its way across her face. "And the werewolf? Should we be concerned?"

While Hermione _had_ told them about Greyback and the personal threat he posed, she hadn't divulged everything… especially not about the periodic wolf howls she heard on the full moon near her home. No one knew about those… She shook the thought from her head. "No. The Ministry is handling it."

"Last I remembered, you didn't trust them."

As a matter of fact, she didn't, but Hermione trusted herself and her own skills. She'd had a layer of wards over her parents' house that made it practically impenetrable. And should anything less than human manage to penetrate them, she would be alerted immediately. The same wards existed over her own home and surrounding land. It was one of the reasons she didn't worry as much as she probably should.

Satisfied, her mother visibly relaxed and gave a sarcastic chuckle. "Well, if anything changes and our lives are being threatened, be sure to let us know before you modify our memories."

It was meant to be a joke, Hermione knew that.

Just an attempt at making light of a tense situation…

But damn if it didn't _burn_.

* * *

_**March 18, 2011** _

Brewing Wolfsbane was a complicated task, both draining and tedious. The ingredients were still not cheap or easily accessible, but Hermione brewed batch after batch each month for Padma's patients and any wolf that came to her clinic in the Alternative Healing department seeking the potion.

Hermione had _not_ played any part in passing the Pro-Werewolf laws that made it a crime to discriminate against them for any reason. However, the Wizengamot had dragged her into the spectacle when they signed it into law. Additionally, they'd invited the media and Andromeda, who had been told to bring along Teddy (as the son of a werewolf) for the occasion.

Like a prop, they had all been there to make the powers that be look good.

And they needed _her_ to do that.

They had taken great care to make certain and spin the story to make it look as if the law had only been made possible by the efforts of the brilliant war hero, Champion of People, Beast, and Beings alike _Hermione Granger_ —despite the fact that there had been an entire _team_ that had worked tirelessly on getting the law to pass. No, she had been the one forced to take the stage, front and centre, and smile for the cameras. Hermione shook hands with the Minister and Chief Warlock Tiberius McLaggan, played her role, and pretended not to feel guilty about it.

Pretended that no one sneered at her back.

Not that it mattered.

Laws, even ones as clear as the Pro-Werewolf articles, were easy to circumvent with moderate effort. Not to mention, the Ministry made them extremely hard to enforce. Unless explicit proof was provided, discrimination accusations were often deemed "hearsay" and "speculation" and thus, damaging to someone's reputation. It was something that kept a lot of the cases out of the ears of the Wizengamot as a whole and in their small committees where they either settled or the case was dropped.

So, instead of evicting a person because of their status and registration, they could be evicted for contamination concerns. Or because they didn't have a regular source of Wolfsbane.

Quietly, the Wizengamot hadn't passed the _only_ beneficial aspect of the law, which would have made the Ministry responsible for providing Wolfsbane to all lycanthropes—for free.

That would have been too right, made things too easy for people treated as sub-human.

And _that_ was why Hermione brewed as much as she could each month. Each vial _truly_ made a difference. Unlike the fake laws, pretend tolerance, and false smiles for the media they tried to control, brewing was the real solution. And the real work. It had never been her favourite thing to do, but it was the right thing and something she excelled at.

Hermione would do more if she could, but Padma's patients (who consisted of newly bitten, long-term wolves, and defects from Greyback's side) were appreciative all the same. They weren't answering the call of the Death Eaters who promised a better life under their regime, and with the potion, they were able to work and live normally as a part of society.

Which was all that mattered.

"The full moon is tomorrow." Padma said, giving her a long look before she worked to prepare for her next group, waving her wand to neutralise the scent of other wolves from the air. They were especially sensitive in the days before the full moon. "Do you want someone to stay?"

Hermione counted the leftovers. She usually made forty. Today there were thirty left and Padma had two more group sessions of no more than six wolves in each, which was right around the normal. "I'll be home by moonrise. Besides, my wards are strong."

"I know all of that, but if you want company, I can stay." Then her brown eyes lit up. "You can help me pick flowers for the wedding."

She could think of an entire list of things she wanted to do more. Hermione chuckled at Padma's rare show of blatant enthusiasm. "I have a vegetable garden and a working knowledge of flowers as they pertain to pollinating, but I'm no expert outside of what's aesthetically pleasing."

"I know, but Neville is busy with his students, Parvati has wild ideas, and Cho will be busy."

"And Blaise? He's your fiancé after all."

Padma gave her a long look. "Blaise Zabini? Picking _floral_ arrangements. _Willingly_?" She started laughing, and unable to stop herself, Hermione joined in. She had a point. The mental image of a bewildered Blaise deciding between lilacs, amaryllis, and carnations was _hilarious_. "Admittedly, he has good taste, but he's been threatening elopement so often I feel this would drive him over the edge."

Hermione snorted. "Fear of your grandmother will keep him in line."

"She has a Bat-Bogey hex that makes Ginny's look amateurish."

They both laughed and returned to their tasks, dropping into silence to focus on what they were doing. But soon, Hermione disrupted it.

"Are you coming tonight?" Every other Friday, they gathered at her house. Witches only.

"Yes. Parvati, too." Then she remembered. "Oh! Is it okay if I bring Cho?"

Hermione didn't feel one way or the other about Cho Chang, but she was Padma's best friend and was slowly becoming a regular at their events. Much to Pansy's annoyance. "That's fine."

Susan popped her head into the room, looking harried, yet perfectly composed. "Pad—oh, Hermione, you're here. Great. I know you're not floating this week, but I need help with a patient." Before either could ask, she continued, "Auror and Task Force versus Death Eaters in a skirmish in Chesterfield. One dead, one missing, two critical, and six injured."

There was a pause… then they both sprang into action, but Padma stopped herself. "I have a Group Session in fifteen minutes." Hermione summoned her trusty beaded bag. "I can't leave a room full of werewolves together the night before a full moon for any length of time." No, she absolutely could not. A fight would likely break out. Padma unclipped her potions holster and put it around Hermione's waist before she turned to Susan. "Any wolf bites?"

"No." Hermione and Padma exchange equally relieved looks. Greyback hadn't been set free. _Yet_. While not the full moon, there was always an alarming rise in the number of people bitten either just before or after. Almost as if it were on purpose.

Hermione pulled out her vial of dittany. "Is Harry out there?"

"No, he wasn't there, but I suppose he'll be around soon, along with Malfoy. The fatality was a Task Force member."

She paused in her efforts to find all the potions she carried in her bag. "Killing Curse?"

"Yes, and the most critical is a dagger wound laced with poison. The same one you cured Molly Weasley from." Hermione's eyes widened, then doubled her efforts, snatching her wand while on the move. She barely said goodbye to Padma before hurrying out with Susan, who walked as she talked. "It's been thirty minutes since he was stabbed. I called someone from Plant Poisoning up to assist." Good move, but that was to be expected, Susan was an excellent planner. "They brought the blade in case it's not the poison they've been using. Do you have the antidote?"

Hermione handed Susan her bag while she put her hair up into a messy bun. "One vial, but there's more in my office, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"Anything else I need to know?"

"He's young."

Very young, as it turned out. Barely out of Hogwarts and not-so trained, it was yet another story of the life of the underfunded Auror office and Task Force team. He was tall, broad, blond, and close to death. Hermione couldn't tell which posed more of a threat: the dagger wound or the poison.

That was about as far as she got when she shed her sweater—so she wouldn't ruin _another_ one with blood—and got to work. Hermione, who didn't wear a uniform or a badge, had no time for names or introductions. The other Aurors in the room must have recognised her from both her own fame and her lunch visits with Harry because no one stopped her. Also likely because the injured wizard was frothing at the mouth, bleeding from a chest wound, and hallucinating about a dead relative. The poison had a firm grip. It took two uninjured Aurors, a Mediwitch, and Hermione literally sitting on his legs to hold him down long enough for Susan, who had returned just in time, to get the first round of antidote down his throat.

Then something for pain.

Then Blood Replenishing.

Then Dreamless Sleep.

He would need it.

It wasn't long before she had his bloody robes torn open, and blood on her gloved hands. Susan followed her every move, making expert seals with her wand as Hermione carefully dripped dittany into the wound, closing as much of it as she could. They worked in silence, so familiar with each other that Hermione knew what Susan would do and what she needed before she could utter a request. And vice versa.

Hermione felt the cooling sensation tingle her skin, vanishing the sweat from her brow. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Susan returned to her task, remaining silent until the gashes were closed. He would have a scar, but he wouldn't die from the wound. The poison on the other hand… it was too soon to tell. "I'll run a few diagnostic charms for any internal damage." Hermione stood back while she worked, removing her gloves and using her wand to cleanse the patient's body of blood and dirt.

Susan finished her charms and reached for the enchanted parchment with the results. She winced, but if Hermione knew anything about the witch, it was that Susan wasn't as much of a pessimist as she should have been—given all the relatives she'd lost to Voldemort. "The poison's pretty advanced, but the dagger missed everything vital. If we can keep him stable through the twelve antidote rounds, he should live."

A brunette Mediwitch peeked in and looked at Hermione. "Harry Potter would like a status update on this patient."

"Critical, but stable."

The witch turned her attention to Susan. "Both Harry and the Task Force leader would like to speak to you about the deceased Task Force team member. They need to inform his family." _Task Force leader?_ That seemed to be an odd way to address Draco Malfoy, given the informal way in which she addressed Harry.

Susan placed the charmed parchment on the table and sighed. "Right, of course."

The excitement of their success with one patient quickly turned into a reminder of a failure and loss of life. There was nothing she could have done, but still, it never got easier.

When she passed, Hermione rested a stable hand on her shoulder, giving her a look that conveyed her concern. Susan nodded in return.

"See you tonight, yeah?"

The witch appeared to think about it. "Who's turn is it to bartend? If it's Pansy, _hell no_. She's heavy-handed and I like to not be miserable for the next week."

Hermione burst out laughing, tossing her head back. She had a point. "No, it's Ginny's turn."

It showed every bit of her weariness from an obviously long day, but Susan smirked. "I'll be late, but I'll be there."

* * *

Ginny had three kids under the age of seven, so in essence, she had three jobs.

Her first was Mum, wife, short-order cook, and peacekeeper (the four positions were intertwined and paid exactly the same— _absolutely_ _nothing_ ), her second was Quidditch reporter (that paid exceedingly well), and her last (but second-most important job) was barmaid.

And like an excellent barmaid, Ginny had a stiff and suspiciously fruity drink waiting for Hermione when she popped home after leaving the unexpected and full day of patients and charting at St. Mungo's.

"Oh, thank goodness." Without uttering a greeting, she drank it in three gulps, noting with a little fear in her heart that the liquor hadn't _burned_ like it should, which didn't bode well for the rest of her evening.

Or her morning tomorrow.

She hadn't brewed any hangover potion in _months_.

But that didn't stop Hermione from placing the empty glass down and nodding for another. It was their Friday night ritual, one that had begun out of necessity for Ginny, who needed a few hours away from her kids for the sake of her sanity. Harry kept them on Friday nights and she kept them on Saturdays when he wanted to go out with his mates.

Over the years, their ritual had grown. Expanded.

Now, it included a few extra people. Like Luna, when she wasn't travelling the world for work. Daphne, Padma, Susan, and Parvati—when they weren't busy. And Pansy, but only when she promised to play nice with their latest addition: Cho.

Pansy didn't come often.

" _That_ bad?"

Hermione sat on the barstool, placing her elbows on the white granite, head bowed in her hands. "I went to drop off Wolfsbane and ended up helping out after the ambush."

"Ah, Harry told me about that. One dead and one missing. Stan Mathers. He was just getting home from breaking the news to his parents when I was preparing to come here. He said you saved a young Auror who got stabbed with a poisoned dagger."

She nodded. "Same poison as the one that damaged your mum's hands. They've managed to fuse it into the blade itself. Nasty bit of magic. Unnatural. He almost died." Hermione frowned. "Susan said Malfoy took it to the Department of Mysteries for them to run tests on it. I was too busy saving the Auror's life." A thought passed. "I don't even remember his name."

"Alan Cottleback." When Hermione eyed her, Ginny shrugged, her answer the same for everything that concerned Auror business. "Harry told me. Also told me to say thank you."

"I was doing my job."

"On your holiday."

Hermione shrugged and accepted the drink Ginny offered.

"Did you miss dinner with your parents?" It was a brave question. Ginny knew exactly how little Hermione wanted to discuss her parents.

And yet she brought them up whenever the opportunity arose.

Internally grimacing, Hermione swallowed her drink down in quick, burning gulps without uttering a response. _Now_ her best friend was more concerned. Hermione, despite having a bar under her island, had never been a heavy drinker. It was a matter of control, obviously, that kept her from indulging outside of the single glass of wine she allowed herself per day.

Tonight, though, she needed the reprieve.

"I didn't," she confessed with a sigh. "We had dinner night before last, but it didn't go very well either."

"So, like normal then." Ginny reached across the bar and patted her on the top of her lowered head in a dry, compassionate sort of way that made Hermione chuckle, despite how she felt.

Hermione launched into a run-through of the visit overall, spending extra time on the conversation with her mum that had stayed with her since tea and the excuse she made to leave before dessert. She played it on repeat in her mind like a scratched record. By the time she finished, Ginny's face had twisted into a cringe and her cheeks were pinker than they had been. "You definitely need another."

Then she dipped out of sight behind the island and re-emerged with a fresh bottle of Ogden's. She walked to Hermione's vintage refrigerator and returned with several small containers of freshly squeezed juices, an ice tray, and maraschino cherries before beginning her complicated mixing process that Hermione watched, but could never comprehend.

Having learned Molly's love for cooking over the years, Ginny was at home in any kitchen and spent enough time inside them to know what Hermione might need. Which was why she'd helped with the layout and didn't say much whenever she rearranged everything during moments of stress.

Everything from the stone flag flooring, white walls, ceiling lights, island's granite that didn't match the treated wood on the rest of the countertops, and distressed wood beams that ran into the sitting room was all Ginny's idea. Hermione couldn't even take credit for the sage green cabinets, the open shelves mixed with cabinets that ran along the wall where the stove was, or the location of the butler sink beneath the window that overlooked her garden and the land beyond as that had been Pansy's doing. The only thing she could say that was all her own idea was the fact that the windowsill was lined with pots of her regularly used herbs.

Honestly, it didn't matter. The space suited Hermione, which was great because when she wasn't brewing potions, working through her infinite reading list, working with patients, or gardening, she was cooking.

After a few small fires and failures, she'd found a new hobby.

"On to a different topic." Hermione rested her elbow on the table and plunked her chin in her hand. "How was your day?"

Ginny's answer was a sarcastic glance followed by an amused chuckle. "Let's just say I'm happy it's Friday. Before I left, Lily bit James because he kept putting his hands in her face after she told him to stop. Al still hates Nursery School and is already upset about returning on Monday, but no tears, just pouting. All in all, there are a lot of tears and hurt feelings happening at my house right now." She grinned. "Harry's _thriving_."

Or crying with them.

"Fun times."

Her mouth quirked into a fond smile that told Hermione that, chaos and all, Ginny wouldn't have it any other way. "Yes, it is." After shaking everything in the ice-filled tumbler one last time, she flashed a smile that instantly told Hermione that the redhead wanted something. "Any plans tomorrow?"

"No." She already knew why Ginny was asking. "I'll probably spend the day gardening with Al."

"Thanks." She grinned in response. "I'll bring him by in the morning."

Truthfully, they didn't need to ask, but every other week one of them would. And Hermione let them.

At five, Albus was the shiest of the three Potter kids, scared of anything too large, and had a tendency to melt into the background when mixed in with his more boisterous, chaos-inspiring siblings— _and_ cousins.

Even though he was anxious to the point of tears around strange adults, in small, controlled environments, Al _thrived_. Harry and Ginny had realised, after daily tantrums and tears, that the sensory overload of his siblings _exhausted_ him. So, they asked her to keep him every other Saturday—just so he could get away—while they worked at home to give him the peace he needed between visits.

He seemed happier during his visits, more inclined to talk, laugh, joke, and ask an array of random questions while he played with the chickens or helped pull weeds. Al was an _excellent_ weed-puller. He enjoyed the quiet of the open pasture behind her gate and the walks they took on sunny days, each time venturing further from the house and closer to the forest he feared.

One day, they would make it.

One day, he would make it to the edge of the forest and realise there was nothing to fear. Hermione would be right there, holding his hand when he decided to take his first steps in.

When he stopped being afraid.

"Where's Luna?" Hermione asked.

Ginny poured the mixture into the glass and pushed it towards her. "Argentina."

"I thought she was supposed to return today."

"She had an issue with her Portkey, so she'll be back tomorrow."

"Ah." Hermione nodded. "And everyone else? Susan already told me she would be late."

"Parvati should be here soon. Padma's running late because she's narrowing down wedding venues with Blaise. She's bringing Cho. Pansy is upstairs deciding if she's going to be a bitch or not while measuring for your clawfoot tub."

"She found one?"

"Yes, _she_ did," Pansy announced from the bottom of the stairs across the sitting room. The room was open to the kitchen, giving her the perfect sight of the drink in Hermione's hand. She gasped dramatically. "You chits started without _me_?"

Ginny rolled her eyes so hard her head went with the motion. "Oh, for fuck's sake." She picked up the metallic shaker and gave it a shake; the sound of ice hitting the metal rang out in the quiet room. Then, she poured a second glass as Pansy sat on the barstool next to Hermione. "Why do we tolerate you?"

"Call it a matter of good taste."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "There's a compliment in there somewhere."

The true answer to Ginny's question was simple in its complexity.

She'd given Pansy a chance.

Not as an act of compassion or forgiveness, but rather as a favour to Theo that she almost declined simply because Hermione had _never_ liked Pansy.

But they were adults, and she understood that even bullies were humans with the capacity to grow the hell up and become better people for it. But she'd never included Pansy in that thought before because, at the time, she hadn't spared the witch a single thought in _years_. Not since she'd shouted for someone to grab Harry so he could be offered to Voldemort to spare them all.

While he'd ended up doing _just that_ , Hermione had _principles_ and a strong sense of justice.

But it wasn't stronger than her desire to help someone obviously in need.

And Pansy had been in need.

The first time Hermione had seen Pansy since the war was in St. Mungo's when Theo had called her into his office to examine the battered witch. He'd waited outside. With the clothes off her back, she'd left her arranged marriage to a German wizard from a powerful wizarding family, and was subsequently burned off her family tree, and financially cut off.

The black eye, busted lip, and bruises had come from being hexed by her mother.

When Hermione had tried to heal her, Pansy had laughed and said, _"No thank you, I'd like to wear them like a crown. I'm finally the ruler of my own destiny."_

The remark had stayed with Hermione for weeks.

Months later, when she'd casually mentioned to Theo that she was preparing to _finally_ start designing her house, he'd asked her to hire Pansy. Just to give her purpose. Focus. A chance.

Pansy had no experience outside of decorating Theo's office, a nasty attitude that was likely a defence mechanism, and she was almost as stubborn as Hermione. But she thought about their initial meeting, the words that had been laced with a strong desire to better herself, and a time not too long before that, when Hermione had needed purpose as well.

So, she had agreed to pay her to design _one_ room—the kitchen.

The project had been gruelling for them both, due to their massive personality and style clash, but they'd found common ground over the sage green paint ultimately used on Hermione's cabinets.

It tentatively grew from there.

Pansy talked about her miserable life under the thumb of her ex-husband's family while Hermione listened and shared bits of her own struggles, the reason behind her departure from the Ministry, and why she'd become a Healer. The more Pansy learned about her, the more she stopped making bold, grandiose suggestions, instead switching to favour those more in line with Hermione's simple style.

When the project was completed, she caught Pansy blinking back tears of accomplishment. Proud of herself and her own capabilities. And like Neville had when she'd grown her first batch of oblong tomatoes, Hermione rested her head on her shoulder and paid it forward by not judging her.

Letting her cry while not speaking a word about it.

Only celebrating how far she'd come… and how far she would go.

Not long after, Hermione suggested Pansy to Hannah Abbott, who had just taken over The Leaky Cauldron and was in need of updating. She'd agreed and the business Pansy hadn't planned on having _exploded_. But despite her busy schedule, she'd kept Hermione's house a priority as they slowly worked— _and argued_ —from room-to-room, turning her cottage into a home.

"Who all is coming—and you _better_ not say Cho fucking _Chang_?"

They remained comically silent.

" _Fuck_ , I'm leaving."

"I'm certain you can tolerate her for a few hours."

The doubtful glare Ginny received made Hermione wheeze out a laugh. "I can tolerate a lot of things—the both of you, for starters."

"Touché." Ginny grinned.

Instead of heading towards the Floo, Pansy approached them, rolling her eyes. "Padma is marrying one of my closest friends and Parvati is hilarious. Susan is tolerable, I suppose. I don't know her well enough except to say that, for a Hufflepuff, she has a _glorious_ resting bitch face. Granger and I signed that armistice, and I suppose, _Weasley_ , you've got a certain _charm_ and a talent for hexes that the recovering bitch in me can respect. However, I draw the bloody line at _Cho_."

"Recovering?" Hermione cocked a brow, which earned her a scowl. She just grinned back.

Meanwhile, Ginny pulled out another glass from below and poured the remainder of the shaker into the glass. Ignoring most of Pansy's arguments, she scoffed. "I've been married to Harry for _ten_ years. Are you going to call me Weasley forever?"

" _Basically_." Pansy brought the rim of her glass to her lips, drinking slowly. " _Oh_ , I've _just_ been reminded why. You make _excellent_ drinks."

"Parenthood has taught me well," Ginny dramatically curtsied and they all laughed.

"How was dinner with _your_ parents?" Pansy arched an eyebrow.

It was a topic they had discussed while breaking down the barriers between them. When Hermione sighed, she and Ginny exchange pointed looks. Pansy pursed her lips and exhaled. Even though she wasn't the comforting type, _not in the least_ , she managed an awkward pat on Hermione's hand.

"Looks like I'm staying after all."

* * *

Hermione felt _good_.

Better than good, she felt absolutely _splendid._

Thanks to a few of Ginny's feel-good concoctions of excellence, both the day and the conversation with her mother were all but a distant memory. Oh, she had no doubt it would return at a later time and place, but she would be better equipped to deal with it then. Not now when she was splayed on the sofa, body warmed and pliant from the alcohol, and her legs stretched out until they reached the empty spot Pansy had just vacated to make them both another drink.

Something different because Ginny had decided it would be an _excellent_ idea for her to catch up with Hermione, and did just that by knocking back three of her mystery drinks rapidly just after the others had arrived.

Now, she looked as regret-free and happy as Hermione felt, and she smiled lazily at her friend who was currently lost in her own world. Ginny's hips swayed to the soft music coming from the Wireless as she waved her arms, eyes closed. Her red hair was freed from its ponytail, moving with her easy shimmies.

Susan, who was already pissed and asleep on the floor, was closer than she knew to being precariously stepped on by the dancing witch.

Oh well.

A slightly flushed Pansy returned with her third and Hermione's… well, she'd lost count. However, upon first taste, it didn't seem as strong as the others. It had a bit of a bite to it though.

"It's straight Firewhisky because I couldn't be bothered to make fancy drinks for someone as _smashed_ as you are, love."

Her term of endearment alerted Hermione to the state of Pansy's sobriety. Or lack thereof.

When Pansy attempted to elegantly sit down, she missed her landing and lost a bit of her drink to her hands, which made her glare. "Damn you gravity. You fickle _bitch_."

Laughter rang out from Padma and Cho, who were on the two-seater talking about Padma's wedding plans—a common topic at their gatherings since she'd gotten engaged to Blaise Zabini at Christmas. She didn't mind. In fact, she was looking forward to their wedding next year in India.

Their inebriated giggles were drowned out by Parvati's. She was a bit of a lightweight, and nearly bombed after only _one_ of Ginny's mixes, which made her tongue loose and her voice louder than usual. She sat _on_ Hermione's coffee table, in black leggings and a bright pink shirt, while facing her sister and close friend, legs folded with her still unfinished first drink in her hand.

Conversation continued after their laughter subsided. Hermione listened, quiet and smiling, not catching every joke or sentence because the alcohol had loosened her to the point where she didn't care that Parvati was sitting on her sled coffee table that looked as if the wood was held together by metal—a table she and Pansy had argued about for two weeks because even though it didn't fit with the country modern theme of the space, Hermione _loved_ it.

Ginny was bopping along in the corner when Cho asked, "How many guests have you and Blaise decided on?"

Padma, who wore her black hair wavy and down as of late, took a long drink and made a look that spoke a little to how overwhelmed she had been about the overall process—a sentiment she'd expressed to Hermione during their last lunch together. "It'll be at least a hundred people from my side and my parents' entire village—"

" _Loads_ of family," Parvati blurted out, extending an arm as if it would quantify the number of guests. "I'm planning on _not_ being single by then. Merlin, if I hear," her face changed as she mocked one of her numerous relatives, " _'When are you going to find a good man to marry?'_ one more time, I'm going to launch myself at the sun!"

While Parvati commiserated on single life, Pansy gave her an insincere air pat with one hand and sipped her drink with the other. "There, there," she drawled like some louche aristocrat.

The Firewhisky dulled Hermione's ability to suppress anything she found remotely funny, so she barked out a loud laugh. Then blushed and apologised. Parvati glared at her but there was no heat in it—especially when she realised something quite important. " _You'll_ need to find a date, too, Hermione. Good luck with that, mate. Your standards are _far_ higher than mine."

"And _your_ standards aren't, Parvati?" Cho asked innocently, but there was mischief in her eyes.

Susan rolled over onto her back and started snoring loudly. _Bless._

"I'll settle for breathing with _reasonably_ decent hygiene. I don't ask for much."

Pansy rolled her eyes and Cho agreed.

Padma, too.

" _Lies!_ " Ginny yelled over the wireless, but kept dancing like she hadn't said a thing.

And while Parvati pouted, everyone laughed because they were familiar with her song and dance. Regardless of what she said, Parvati _had_ standards and they were _not_ low.

In fact, they were probably higher than Hermione's. In a way.

She'd never had a steady boyfriend, only a long string of casual flings that ultimately hadn't turned into anything more permanent. The reason why had been solely because she fancied unattainable men—whether physically, emotionally, or _both_. And when they began to show interest and talk of something more, when they began to chase _her_ rather than the other way around… well, her interest in them practically vanished.

Hermione was familiar with the thrill of the hunt, of chasing something she wanted until she'd caught it, but she'd never known someone to win a race, collect their trophy, look at it, and toss it in the rubbish quite like Parvati. Over the years, she'd wondered if Parvati had even _wanted_ all of those unobtainables in the first place, or if she merely liked the idea of them being just out of reach.

But now that she was sozzled and overthinking every little thing, Hermione found herself sipping her Firewhisky and contemplating the idea that _perhaps_ Parvati didn't know what she wanted. Or maybe she _did_ and was too scared of the additional stress and responsibilities that came along with twining her life with someone else's.

Hermione, secretly, could relate.

Padma had done it so easily in the last six years she'd been with Blaise that Hermione seriously considered flat out asking her just _how_ she'd built something out of nothing. It couldn't have been easy considering the fact that they had _so_ much against them, right from the start. Yet they fought each battle again and again with a better strategy and a growing resilience. There were so many people that doubted they would make it one month, much less a year.

Or s _ix_.

Hermione quietly confessed that she had been a doubter.

They were such a bizarre pair, right from the start, both cagey about the details that had led to their coming together.

Alcohol, if she had a guess.

Hermione liked when things made sense, when things were analysable, and they were neither. Padma wasn't as electric as her sister, not nearly as bold or outgoing. She knew how to have fun, but was a bit uptight. Like Hermione, she preferred a good book or foreign film over going out. They shared a love for hard work and a passion for helping people.

Blaise was… well, he was the sort of person people paid attention to because he never did anything that was expected of him. He was extremely laidback, charismatic, and open with what didn't matter but private about what did. In fact, no one had any idea they were even dating until some unfortunate soul tried to accost Padma during one of their group outings.

She was _still_ trying to calculate how he'd gone from sitting next to Theo to punching some drunken wizard in the face. They'd _all_ been all thrown out of the bar in the process.

Apparition had been ruled out because his wand was still at the table.

Nevertheless, that had been how _everyone_ found out, and also how they all learned that neither of the families approved of the match. Padma's family didn't approve because he wasn't Indian, traditional, or interested in having a large family—something Padma wasn't interested in either. Hermione had expected Blaise's mother to disapprove because of Padma's blood status, but was surprised to learn that it actually stemmed from the simple fact that she wasn't rich.

_Interesting._

But it seemed that the more their families tried to tear them apart, the tighter they held onto each other. They outlasted their disapproval and became stronger for it. Indomitable. Padma had simply _blossomed_ with Blaise at her side, becoming a more confident version of herself, certain of her worth in every part of her life. She supported his career that kept him away at times and he celebrated each of her successes. On the occasions when she failed, he was still there supporting her. Encouraging her. Cheering her on in that subtle way of his.

Hermione sipped her drink and considered the possibility that she had been wrong about them…

Perhaps they made sense after all.

"Who did Blaise pick as his groomsmen?" Pansy rolled her eyes at Parvati, who was finishing her first drink and moaning pitifully to herself about her single life. Ginny was doing a strange version of The Robot. The music was all wrong for her dance moves, but Hermione tilted her glass at her friend and supported her life choices.

Like a good friend.

She hiccupped.

Susan rolled over onto her side; her snores were louder than the music. A silencing charm would do, but Hermione had no idea where her wand was. Probably for the best.

Pansy gave her a look out the corner of her eye, which made her _grin_. With all of her teeth.

"Oh good gods, Hermione, _stop_ smiling!" Parvati exclaimed. "You look like you've trapped a bug."

There was another riotous round of laughter that she joined in on. Ginny, sometime during the fit of giggles, drifted over and flopped down next to Hermione on the sofa. She'd _barely_ had time to move her legs.

"Who _did_ he choose?" Ginny asked with a bit of a slur, her cheeks bright red with both exertion from her dancing and from her drinks.

Padma, who had long since kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet alongside her while leaning on Cho, pliant and happy. "Theo and Draco." Meanwhile, her choices for bridesmaids had been obvious: Parvati and Cho.

Hermione would be attending happily as a guest. Besides, Harry and Ginny's chaotic affair had made her seriously question if she wanted a ceremony at all… should she ever find someone. Or muster the energy to _look_ for that matter.

At Blaise's choices, Parvati lifted her head, a gleam in her dark eyes. "He picked Draco? _Excellent_."

Cho tilted her head in curiosity. "I'm confused." There wasn't a slur in her words; she was the most sober person in the room, as she didn't drink—one of the many reasons Pansy couldn't stand her. "Just how buckled _are_ you?"

"Yes."

Ginny almost choked while Parvati smiled at the inside of her cup before cackling with glee. "This is _fantastic_ news."

"Why are you so _excited_ about this?" Cho asked. "Draco Malfoy is a massive—" She cut her eyes in Pansy's direction and blushed at her misstep. She was talking about a friend of Pansy's who they all knew she was _extremely_ protective over.

The witch didn't care, shrugging at her efforts at being tactful while completing her sentence. "Wanker? Prat? Arse? I've called Draco almost every version of the word I know at some point in our lives. Or in the last month. _Or week_." Pansy cut her eyes at Parvati. "The question remains: why are _you_ so excited?"

Which seemed to be the question of the hour, judging by the look on everyone's face.

Parvati glanced around at each of them, more and more aghast by their lack of understanding. "Draco Malfoy will be _wearing_ traditional Indian groomsmen robes." She spoke slowly like they were missing the point. And Hermione probably was because nothing the witch said made any sense. "He'll be wearing _Indian_ robes." Padma chuckled knowingly—some twin thing Hermione never understood. The rest of them were still lost. " _Indian_! _Robes_!"

"I'm so lost right now," Cho said softly, more to Padma than anyone, but they all heard her anyway. Hermione found herself giggling because the witch's confusion was so loud she almost looked regretful for asking the question that had brought her to that point.

" _Indian! Robes!_ " Parvati emphasised each word with a sharp cutting motion of her free hand.

"Yes, yes, we get it," Pansy huffed. "Get to the point, for fuck's sake!"

"Are you all fucking _kidding_ _me right now?_ " She looked at them all like she was the smartest person in the room. Hermione had evidence to prove otherwise. "The man is bloody _gorgeous_." Parvati brought her hand to her chin, pursing her lips in reflection as she added an addendum to her statement. "Well, not accounting for his personality, of course."

Cho's face was all scrunched up. "That's a _pretty_ large thing to not account for." She glanced over at Pansy, who nodded her approval, then said, "He's an arse."

Ignoring her, Parvati pushed her braid off her shoulder. "Fair. That's incredibly fair. Witch Weekly asked me to interview the top ten Wizarding World Bachelors last week and Malfoy ranked number one." For a morbid reason. Hermione grimace. "His mum had to force him to attend the interview, but bloody hell is he _fit_. Have you lot _seen him_?"

Ginny and Cho exchanged shrugs. They hadn't. Padma and Pansy obviously had. As the only person who didn't answer, Hermione suddenly found all eyes on her. Parvati looked expectant. She scratched her eyebrow before awkwardly replying. "Uh… no. Haven't seen him in _years_ , actually. Since his trial."

"Just how the _hell_ have you managed _that_ , Hermione?" Parvati scoffed. "You have lunch with Harry and they work together!"

"I just haven't. It's not like they're chummy. I imagine they schedule their loo breaks to avoid seeing each other for a second longer than they have to."

The room erupted in laughter, despite Hermione being deadly serious about her statement. She just shrugged and started to take another sip of Firewhisky when Ginny made a slow grab that she'd seen coming a kilometre away. Ginny's success at stealing it could be completely blamed on Hermione's poor motor control and the fact that the room had a nice hazy glow to it. The joke ended up being on Ginny when she took the first sip and blanched at the taste, looking as if she'd swallowed molten lava.

She turned wild eyes on Hermione. "How are you _drinking_ this straight?"

Her shrug was lazy at best. "It's spicy?"

"She's blitzed," Pansy cut in.

Hermione started to argue, but lost both the words and the will.

 _Next time_ , she vowed while nodding at nothing.

Then she chuckled at herself and leaned forward, which was actually to the side because her head touched Ginny's shoulder.

Ah, definitely smashed then. _Marvellous_.

Parvati brought the focus back on herself. "Of _course_ she is, but that doesn't matter because Draco Malfoy will be wearing traditional Indian robes and _I_ appear to be the only one who recognises it for the gloriousness that it is." Dramatically, she pointed at them all. "I'm _ashamed_ of you all!"

" _I_ , for one, don't see him that way because I've known him all his life," Pansy pointed out with a lazy wave of her hand and a sip of her drink. She crossed her legs and leaned back on the sofa. "Also," Pansy grimaced. "Been there, tried to do that Fifth Year, and that was a terrible mistake we agreed never to speak of again." Then she got up, plucked the glass from Ginny's hand and wobbled into the kitchen to pour more Firewhisky.

Hermione smiled in excitement.

Parvati looked up, appearing to deeply contemplate her point. "You know what? I'll allow that. He was still pointy then. _Now_ , however, I'd give part of my salary for the opportunity to climb him like a tree."

Ginny made a high-pitched noise, her lips pursed and eyes squinted. "Pretty certain that's called _prostitution_."

"It's a bit illegal," Hermione needlessly pointed out.

" _A bit?_ " Cho and Padma said simultaneously.

Then they broke out in light giggles with the rest of them joining in quickly. Susan continued snoring. Parvati, meanwhile, was glaring at them all, but none of them were threatened by her looks because she was too busy trying not to smile. "Okay, poor choice in words, but the fact remains. He's still a bit pointy, gorgeous, and— _well_ , according to the rumours, he _has_ started to date again after… you know."

And they did.

The witch cringed at her own insensitivity. Not because she felt particularly bad about her words—she would have said it regardless—but rather because Pansy was there. She hadn't been Astoria's friend, but she was Daphne's… and she was well within earshot.

But when the witch returned less than a minute later, she handed Ginny _her_ glass and ignored the way Hermione sulked at being cut off before she coolly levelled Parvati with a look. "Don't stop on my account." She sat down and sipped her Firewhisky before she continued on, "Seriously. It doesn't offend me because it's fact: Draco _is_ widowed, and we all knew it was coming after his son's birth. It wasn't a surprise. The surprise was how long Astoria lasted."

Ginny refused to share her drink, no matter how much Hermione pouted.

"His mother is planning to use this Season to find him a wife." After running a hand over her still perfect hair, she gave a very matter-of-fact shrug. "Purebloods who are widowed as early as he has been don't typically wait long to remarry, especially when they have young children. It's a witch's duty to raise the children, regardless if they are hers or not."

When Padma rested her head on Cho's shoulder, she took to carefully pushing her hair out of her face, frowning when she said, "Seems cold."

Pansy shrugged with an indifference that came from growing up in that world. "We all know that we'll _never_ marry for love unless we're okay with living without a family. _Well_ —" She offered the now nodding future Mrs Zabini a meaningful look. "The Zabini's aren't traditional in any sense of the word, so they don't count. The Greengrasses aren't as traditional either, but they didn't forgive Daphne for running off and marrying Dean until Astoria died. In fact, they _still_ act like he doesn't exist, even though they're about to have a baby. My family was _far_ stricter."

Ginny, who had been as quiet and thoughtful as Parvati, spoke up. "Do you regret leaving?"

Hermione's eyes were suddenly too heavy to keep open so she allowed her head to rest on the back cushion. The room swayed as if she were on a boat in the middle of the ocean, even though her eyes were shut.

Still, when Pansy answered, Hermione heard it loud and clear in the haze of her intoxicated mind. "I only regret not leaving sooner." And because she was always so bloody _maudlin_ whenever she drank Firewhisky, the last thing Hermione heard before she drifted to sleep was: "I'll never be able to repay Theo, or even Firewhisky-soaked Granger here, for how they helped me figure myself out after, but I'll never forget it either."

_If you can't pay it back, pay it forward.  
_ **Catherine Ryan Hyde**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whew, chapter two, more characters, more set up. I call this chapter the introduction to Hermione, some of her struggles, and the bonds she's made over the last thirteen years. Some newer than others. Hermione in the books didn't have a huge friend following, I think she would rectify that. And humor! Hope you enjoyed this lengthy chapter. Thank you for all the reviews and thanks to my alpha and beta for their hard work...even when I decided to add an extra part at the last minute. OOP.


	3. Leave Out All The Rest

**  
Three  
** _Leave Out All The Rest_

_**March 21, 2011** _

The three keys to gardening—Hermione had learned when she and Neville began expanding hers beyond tomatoes, beans, and courgettes—were good planning, forethought and strategising. Which made it the ideal hobby for someone like Hermione.

At first, it had been a hobby that was critical to her physical and psychological health after quitting the Ministry. Assigned from a therapist who annoyed her immensely, it was an outlet for frustration with the eggshells everyone walked on around her.

But after her fair share of failures, a breakthrough in therapy, and dedicating time to discover things about herself, Hermione began to understand that gardening was more than digging holes, sticking plants in the ground, and keeping them watered properly.

It was about making connections.

Ones with science, art, and biology. She was fascinated with making things thrive and harmoniously arranging plants in their surroundings.

Experimentation was another key to gardening Hermione had yet to master—having learned everything she knew thus far from Neville, books, and experience—but that had to do with her own issues.

By its very nature, experimentation involved a lot of testing and frequent failures. She'd done a lot of that in her life, and she wasn't interested in doing more right now.

She wanted to maintain the status quo, plant what she needed that would grow, and use her hard work to help others.

She wanted to perfect the process before trying anything new.

In order to do that, Hermione was back to doing two things that were at the core of who she was: research and learning. But now she was doing it for her own desire to better herself and the world in a capacity that _actually_ made a difference…

And didn't nearly kill her in the process.

So instead of laws, both magical and creature, she studied climate and weather patterns in her area and the purpose of indoor sowing. Before long, she was growing her own herbs for potions.

Instead of being dragged into the machinations of the most powerful at the Ministry who only wanted to use her image to make themselves look better, Hermione studied and tested soil for the right pH balance, and mastered the art of fertilising the earth correctly for each plant.

Instead of politics and learning which members of the Wizengamot to avoid or approach, she familiarised herself with the correct wards to deter the wrong sort of wildlife. She built a greenhouse and figured out the magic needed to make it hold everything she needed.

And instead of doing the work of six people, Hermione did the job of one: combining all of her knowledge to use, cultivate, and till the earth to make way for new growth.

It was _exhilarating_. Never dull, always therapeutic.

A practical hobby for a practical person.

Gardening taught her that growth—including that of her mind, body, and ideas—started with a seed. What she did with it was up to her. Losing plants taught her the value in all life, human or otherwise, and made her understand the importance of every step involved in nourishing something until it grew healthy and strong.

Like herbs for potions, fruits, and vegetables, life needed care and fertiliser, time and patience, sunshine and water to grow.

But gardening had also taught her to watch out for weeds.

They were hard to define, much like people. Some were harmless, blending into their environment and living alongside the intended plants. In rare cases, they could even be considered beneficial. But others were destructive and she made certain she pulled them as soon as she spotted them. If she didn't, they could spread and grow stronger, smothering the life out of the planted seedlings. Weeds impoverished the soil by depleting anything and everything just to strengthen themselves.

One such weed was waiting for her in her home office in the form of Tiberius McLaggan.

And Hermione couldn't _wait_ for someone to pull him out by the roots.

Following the end of the war, the quiet depowering of the position of Minister through old laws had created a power vacuum unlike anything the Wizarding World had ever seen. Chaos was the reason it went unnoticed. They were all too busy recovering and burying the dead while every high-ranking Ministry official who _hadn't_ been associated with Voldemort rushed in to fill the void.

One of those open positions had been Chief Warlock, who was the head of the Wizengamot.

The wizard who had filled it was standing in her office, eyeing her table of that month's sows of sweet peas, cauliflower, and peppers that were almost ready to be planted outdoors. His presence wouldn't have been an issue had the changing of the structure of their government _not_ made him the most powerful wizard in the country.

Because he was as crooked as they came.

After receiving Theo's letters of refusal, he usually sent Cormac, and that was _always_ an illuminating experience. Especially when he kept his hands and thoughts about her figure to himself.

Still, Cormac was easy to handle.

But Tiberius...?

Outside of his penchant for bribing to get his way, she didn't know enough about him to decide one way or another.

"Chief Warlock," Hermione greeted from her spot at the door, not moving.

He was in his late fifties, but looked younger and stronger than ever. Like Cormac, he was tall, broad, and imposing. His brown hair was just as curly as his nephew's, but his eyes were as different as his overall presence. Cormac leered and flirted, but Tiberius was sharper, his attention laser-focused on her.

There was a purpose and reason for seeking her out himself. He seemed like the sort who had a reason behind everything—including his attire. Tiberius arrogantly donned official robes that signified his station, and when he turned, there was a pleasant expression on his face that was as fake as a copper Galleon.

"Ah, Miss Granger." He clasped his hands together. "I was wondering when you would turn up."

Her plan had been to not turn up until after he had left back out the Floo he had entered from, but after thirty minutes of waiting in the vegetable patch, Tiberius showed an aggravating level of persistence.

Like his nephew.

"Your office is quite… lively."

It was spacious enough and _mostly_ tidy. Cosy but about as professional as she could stand. Untouched by Pansy, who was chomping at the bit to decorate it, the office was a mishmash of rococo furnishings that blended in with her white walls and the oak floors that flowed through every room of the house except the kitchen. On the white table in front of the window to the left of her desk, next to her vegetables that were ready to go into the ground, were individual pots with that week's troublemakers—dittany and moly—who refused to sprout and needed more attention.

"Thank you." She inclined her head slightly. "My personal office hours don't begin for another hour."

"My apologies, I was unaware that I needed an appointment."

"Yes, well, regardless of your _position_ , I have a schedule I keep and a meeting in an hour so please be brief." She crossed the room to her cluttered desk, taking her seat and gesturing to the one across from her. "Are you here for a consultation? I'm not accepting new patients at the moment, but I can always direct you to one of my peers. That is, if I know what sort of care you need."

He declined the seat, further indication that he was there for a specific purpose. "I'm not here for a consultation. This is merely a friendly visit."

Hermione wasn't sure if his smile was meant to be friendly, menacing, or a little of both.

"I wasn't aware that we were friends."

Tiberius' smile turned cold. _Definitely_ intended to be menacing. "My nephew has been singing your praises since Hogwarts. He continues to do so after meeting with you regarding your ongoing rejections of the Ministry's offers."

Keeping the distaste off her face was a struggle. "Ah, well I see, but that doesn't make us friends. Perhaps acquaintances at best."

"Regardless, he firmly believes you will change your mind—"

"Then it's _clear_ he doesn't know me at all."

For a moment, they watched each other like opponents at chess, each trying to figure out the other's move. Hermione was drawing all sorts of blanks. War hero status aside, she was a small cog in a large machine. His presence broke all kinds of established rules… as did her apathy about it.

"A bit of advice, Miss Granger. When the Chief Warlock takes time out of his _extremely_ busy schedule to pay you a visit, you should at least pretend to look happy about it."

"I'll remember that." She opened the folder on her desk in preparation for her next meeting and folded her hands on top of it, leaning in slightly. "You want deference, but call this a friendly visit? I'll confess I'm perplexed. What is it that you want Chief Warlock?"

At first, Tiberius said nothing, moving from the vegetables to the eucalyptus plant she kept as an insect repellant. "Before I knew of your dedication to your during your time with the Ministry, I thought Cormac was exaggerating his tales of your intelligence, but now I know he was telling the truth. You're smart enough to gauge my reason for coming here."

"I can, but I don't like to make assumptions."

"The past work you did for the Ministry before your unfortunate departure was most impressive. So much that I wanted to personally see if you had carried that success on to your next position." He gestured to the office around him. "It seems that you have."

Hermione clenched her jaw. "You've been watching me."

"Watching is such a _harsh_ term with a negative connotation." His evasive response reminded her so much of his nephew. For all the wrong reasons. "I prefer to think of it as following your illustrious career."

That gave her—well, not an idea, but something that needed confirmation. "Ah, so you're behind the job offers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Not Hestia." She knew the answer; Hestia always rolled her eyes whenever they discussed the ridiculous offers.

"If I am?" His eyes lingered on the troublemaker plants in her windowsill for a moment before they met hers. "The department under Hestia Jones is having an image crisis that even promoting the famous Harry Potter to the Head of Aurors has been unable to cure."

That was what happened when a dirty wound was left unattended, it festered until it didn't matter how much was done to fix it, the entire limb had to go.

"It seems that the public's trust in those who uphold law and order is failing." Tiberius glanced out the window before returning his focus to her. "It's a problem that Harry doesn't seem to care about."

Hermione moved her finger, using wandless magic to lift the kettle spelled to keep warm. Another flick of her wrist and it poured the steaming liquid into her empty teacup. Tiberius watched as if she was supposed to have a different reaction—one that didn't have her at ease enough to drink tea in the presence of the most powerful wizard in the country.

After taking her first sip, she placed her teacup on the saucer and addressed the now glaring wizard without interest. "One could argue Harry has more than the public's trust to worry about. I can think of a few things. Death Eaters being one that you all seem keen on sweeping under the proverbial rug. An Auror is missing, several others were injured just days ago, and yet there was no mention of it in the papers."

"We felt there was no need to alarm the public."

"So, you're controlling the news outlets." Hermione leaned back in her chair. "This feels familiar."

Tiberius bristled. "That's not an accurate statement, Miss Granger. We've merely requested they run the story next week so that it doesn't interfere with the investigation."

"What investigation? From what I hear, you're not allowing them to send a team after Mathers."

Tiberius placed his hands behind his back—a comfortable and superior position. He wasn't threatened by her either; it appeared that he felt the need to show it. _Interesting._ "You're very informed for someone who left the Ministry and has no inclination to return."

"I am." It was a bold statement, but so was her next. " _And I don't_."

"Shame." He tsked. "Harry Potter could use you at his side. Draco Malfoy could, too."

Keeping her recoil internal, she took another sip of tea. "Why put them into positions of power if you don't believe they can do the job without someone else on their team?"

"Their talent wasn't the reason they were placed in their current positions." That much Hermione already knew, but she patiently listened, watching the Chief Warlock explain himself with bold gestures. "Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived, defender of all that is good and just. Draco Malfoy is redemption in the form of a man who turned on those his family used to align themselves with. Rivals and enemies to allies. Their partnership is poetic."

_What utter tripe._

"Apologies for my brusqueness, but this isn't a theatrical performance, Chief Warlock. This is _real life_ with far-reaching consequences for your actions, or lack thereof. They may be qualified for the positions, but—"

"We each have a role we must play to ensure the preservation of our government and our way of life." Preserve was an interesting way to phrase it when there was still so much that needed to be changed. So much that was still wrong. So much that was corrupted, tainted by their mishandling. "All of us must do our part, including you, Miss Granger. People respect you. They remember your efforts in the war. The Ministry would benefit—"

" _Or_ , rather than use me as a draw to complete your trifecta to tote around as proof of your dedication to the fight against Death Eaters, you could actually _do your jobs_ and provide the funding the Auror Office and Task Force need to clean up the mess created by the Wizengamot's ignorance. They're underfunded, not nearly trained enough, and spread thin… _and_ yet, you're constantly giving them more responsibilities."

"The Ministry has many duties. We merely requested the Auror Department and the Task Force to perform theirs so that we can dedicate our efforts to restoring our economy and—"

"I'm _aware_ of your duties to the economy." Hermione folded her arms. "But, tell me something, where do the people rank on that list?"

"People benefit from economic growth and stability."

"I'm talking about _right now_. What are you doing to help those who need it most at this very moment? Because it takes time for that to trickle down. Meanwhile the rich get richer, and people become more disenchanted." Hermione's stare sharpened like a blade. "How's business in Diagon Alley?"

He would know; he owned every business and building, after all.

Except the joke shop.

And the fact that the Chief Warlock was allowed to manage his business and real estate, while passing laws he directly benefited from was unconscionable. Unfortunately, due to a lack of precedent, there were no applicable wizarding laws. So while it wasn't illegal, the blatant disregard of any sort of ethics was appalling. It exposed a massive hole in the way things were run. A hole the Wizengamot had no interest in filling.

And people _noticed_.

"Business is not what I'm here to discuss with you today, Miss Granger. My nephew hasn't been successful in having a conversation with you that would persuade you to change your mind regarding our repeated offers, so I thought I would come here to figure out what it is that you want. I'm willing to negotiate terms, salary, and further compensation upon measurable success." He paused. "Things that no one else needs to know."

Now that he was showing exactly who he was, devoid of the public mask, Hermione shed hers. More like ripped it off. "I don't _want_ anything you can provide me, I assure you. Your problems are larger than me and my so-called influence and I'm not interested in being the Ministry's puppet _again."_

Tiberius said nothing for a long moment. "I suppose you are part of the group that wants to unseat the Wizengamot."

Hermione kept her face perfectly blank. He wasn't correct, as she had no direct dealings with them, but he wasn't wrong either.

"We know they exist," he said in response to her silence. "They support you, too. That is, should you return."

Ah, well that explained it. They wanted her under their thumb. "I have no intentions to return. Not for you. Not for anyone. _Perhaps_ you should focus less on bribing me, less on trying to scheme in order to quiet the complaints, and more on doing your job. Protect the people. Help them. Give the Aurors and Task Force a fighting chance with the funding and time they need to—"

"There are over a _hundred_ Aurors—"

"I'm aware." She gave him a dark look that he returned with a challenge. "I used to track that sort of thing when I worked for the Ministry in one of my _many_ unofficial jobs. They are trying to keep up with regular crime committed by desperate people who haven't recovered from a war that took place thirteen years ago while also fighting off _Death Eaters_ in the countryside that are hiding in plain sight and picking them off one group at a time. Not to mention, working to find their base of operation. There aren't enough people to do what you're asking of them."

"The Ministry—"

"I won't discuss the rising increase in popularity of the Death Eater's cause." Hermione was in no mood for excuses. "And while they agree Voldemort was a megalomaniac with a philosophy that was severely flawed, the general consensus is that a regime change is a far better option than what they have right now."

The expression on the Chief Warlock's face shifted to something tight, his anger barely restrained. Tiberius clearly wasn't used to being spoken to in the manner in which Hermione was speaking to him. Used to respect.

Well, respect was earned.

"I think you've forgotten who I am."

"I assure you I know _exactly_ who you are. You robes show the power you're happily wielding." _No matter how unqualified._ "Nevertheless, I don't work for the Ministry—"

"We make rules that affect you."

"True, and not in all the good ways."

His jaw worked as he continued to keep his temper in check. "And your department is funded by the Ministry. "

"Correction: _was_. The start-up was for reasons you already know, but now we're self-funded through our research grants in a hospital that's privately owned. Not only do you have no power over my job, you also don't have any power in my home." Hermione allowed her words to hang in the air as she comfortably took another sip from her tea.

Peppermint with no sugar or honey.

But instead of lashing out, Tiberius did something odd. He smiled and looked genuinely pleased. Positively electrified. Engaged and intrigued by her. He actually looked a bit mad. "You have so much fire in you, Miss Granger. So much passion and brilliance. You're just what we need. You should consider returning and putting your skills to good use."

"As I've stated many times over, I have no interest in returning to the Ministry. I'm not playing anyone's game."

"Is this about the Ministry's handling of your incident?"

The casual way in which he spoke of something so deeply personal made her flinch. Visibly.

It set her on edge.

"Yes, most definitely, but also no." It was the best answer she could think of.

"Oh?" Tiberius looked intrigued.

"I'm aware of my own failings in that regard. I didn't prioritise myself and put my trust in an institution that didn't care if I lived or died. An _institution_ that just wanted me to get my work done and continue spouting praises for the Ministry until I was blue in the face. Quite literally."

Unfortunately, she wasn't exaggerating.

At the height of Hermione's rise in the Ministry, when she was working extremely long hours and not tending to herself, she remembered feeling a wave of lightheadedness… then nothing else. She had no memory of it, but apparently someone found her convulsing on the floor and rushed her to St. Mungo's. A week later she woke up with no memories or knowledge of just how close to death she had worked herself.

All she could recall were the worried faces of her friends—and later, her parents. She struggled with the fact that she'd lost memories and an entire _week_ to seizures she _still_ couldn't remember. Seizures that had left her magic erratic for weeks. Her body was weak for longer, her mind distressed and unable to string together complicated thoughts.

Seizures that _still_ threatened to return if she didn't monitor her stress.

They wanted her back in the office two days after she had woken up. That request had sparked her decision to leave. Her health had been a gamble they were willing to take for their self-proclaimed greater good, and _that_ left a sour taste in her mouth.

Tiberius approached the topic like the politician he was—carefully. "I will admit that the handling could have been better. However—"

"However, we have _nothing_ left to discuss. Please consider this my refusal of all offers extended. I have matters to attend to before my office hours begin. Please see yourself out."

She was halfway out the door when she heard him again.

"You should reconsider, Miss Granger. I know how much you enjoy making a difference. You could help thousands."

"I'd rather do it my own way, thank you." The allure was simply not enough.

With that, she left.

* * *

_**March 22, 2011** _

Exactly one day after confirming her consultation with Theo's mystery patient, Hermione was sitting in her home office, reading through their file for the third time, when Narcissa Malfoy stepped out of the Floo.

_Interesting._

She wasn't the _last_ person Hermione expected to see, but she _was_ very close.

That position belonged to her son.

If it meant anything, she looked equally as surprised to see Hermione. The non-verbal clue told her that Theo was far sneakier than she had realised. He hadn't told _either of them_ the complete story. And before she could speculate or speak to the witch who tried, but ultimately failed, to suppress her shock, the Floo burst to life again as two security wizards stepped out. They took their place on either side of their charge, folding their arms in an attempt to look intimidating with their matching black robes and deep frowns.

Like _Hermione_ was a threat.

She almost laughed.

Narcissa stood out from her guards in lavender robes with silver accents, but Hermione spotted the mismatched gold band on a plain necklace. Her makeup, which highlighted her best features, was as perfect as her coiffed blonde hair. She was dressed to impress, and Hermione wondered if she might have dressed differently had she known the identity of the Healer she was scheduled to meet.

When she was younger, she knew the answer, but now it wasn't as clear.

Hermione gestured to the chair in front of her desk. "Please, do take a seat." Addressing Narcissa's security wizards, she said, "You both are welcome to wait outside the door."

Narcissa sat in the offered chair with her hands properly placed in her lap and her back straight; her guards remained rooted in their spots. Hermione stared at each of them, but they simply returned her pointed glare. The moment she was about to open her mouth and tell them to leave _again,_ Narcissa raised one finger and motioned towards the door.

The last one out shut the door.

And then they were alone.

Hermione allowed her eyes to slide from left to right before settling back on the witch sitting in front of her. It was the part of the conversation where she would usually ask the patient to tell her a little about themselves and what they sought to accomplish under her care, but today, she merely waited. There was no need for formalities; they knew each other—even if it was barely well enough to identify the other on the street.

_Or inside her home during a war._

Today, Hermione decided to sit, wait, and watch as Narcissa's eyes scanned everything in her periphery because the witch was too proper to turn her head or nose up.

It didn't matter. Hermione knew what she was seeing. They were in her home, after all.

On the walls, surrounding her white bookshelves that were spilling over with books, hung her accolades: her certificates and the awards she'd won. Narcissa stared at each frame as closely as she could from where she sat,. scanning each with sharp eyes as if she found it impossible that someone as young and as Hermione had managed to accomplish so much.

But she was thirty-one with an Order of Merlin hanging in the centre of her wall of achievements. When Narcissa saw it, she stopped trying to scrutinise.

She started to take her seriously.

It did nothing to help convince Hermione to accept her as a patient.

It was business, she would explain to Narcissa at the end of the appointment. Nothing personal.

"Theodore did not inform me that _you_ were the Healer he had arranged for this consultation."

"I surmised as much." Hermione glanced down at the file in front of her. "When you requested the best"— she raised her eyes to meet Narcissa's sharp gaze—"you should have been more specific if a certain blood status was a prerequisite for your treating Healer."

"My request was accurate." The older witch delicately patted her hairline with a silk, embroidered handkerchief.

Hermione noted the sweat before she dabbed it away. Just seeing one symptom was enough to inform her that the potions she had been prescribed were not working. _Pity_.

Narcissa seemed aware of her observation, and brought her hand back down as she narrowed her eyes defensively. "You could be a _troll_ as far as I am concerned, Miss Granger. However, if you are indeed the best, then I am in the correct office."

"Very well." Hermione said nothing further on the subject.

Silence wasn't entirely uncommon during consultations, some patients struggled to accept that they needed her help, but the one that fell between them was different. Heavier. It coiled around Hermione, reaching into her stomach to settle there in a hard knot of history. There was so much of it, and it was _complicated_.

Here was a witch who had been a prisoner in her own home when it had been converted into an unfathomable hell. A witch who had lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead, risking her life to protect her son. Here was also the witch whose sister had taken joy in torturing her.

Yet she was asking for Hermione's help.

The irony was not lost on her.

But years in therapy had taught her that healing from trauma wasn't just physical or mental. It was also about taking charge of her personal liberation from the mental state of victimisation by not allowing herself to let past trauma interfere with her present and future.

While looking at Narcissa, she reminded herself that she'd already forgiven the witch _and_ her family. She had let it go _years_ _ago_ , and she refused to go back to that place once more. She hadn't forgiven them for their sake, no, it was for _hers_. Hermione knew that she couldn't grow if she held on to every grudge, couldn't fly if she allowed herself to stay grounded by every weight in her past.

And she very much wanted to do both.

Forgiveness wasn't an action, but a choice that she continued to make each day. It wasn't easy, but Hermione had accepted her decision not to allow hate to cloud her judgment anymore. And that granted her the peace of mind she needed to be objective about the witch in front of her.

Detached enough to consider the facts of the assignment and not the patient.

The truth was that she couldn't accept her as a patient, no matter what the angle.

Hermione had rules about accepting patients she knew in any capacity; she mentally glared rusty daggers at Theo because he had known that all along yet he had _still_ suggested she keep an open mind.

"Would you care for tea?" Hermione politely gestured to the kettle on her desk, charmed to stay warm. She provided this blend during all of her initial consultations. "It's a blend of lemon balm, kava, and valerian root. It's good to calm the nerves."

Narcissa looked mildly impressed, but ultimately declined. "My nerves are perfectly calm, thank you."

"Mmm." Hermione saw the subtle signs of stress, whether intentional or not. She saw the eye movements and tension in her shoulders that spoke to it, but she refused to make assumptions about a witch she hardly knew.

Thirteen years had passed and she doubted Narcissa Malfoy was the same witch she had been. That was impossible. Losing her husband and way of life had changed her, made her retreat. She'd disappeared from both London society and the country itself, living in an undisclosed part of France until recently.

And yet, she had been busy in her self-imposed exile.

Two years after her husband's death, Narcissa had published a tell-all that Hermione had never bothered with, but Andromeda had read it roughly six months after it had been released. It accurately detailed her life growing up in the Black household with a very honest telling of Andromeda's and Sirius' exits from the family, one that the witch herself couldn't denounce. She wrote of her marriage, her son (without many details, as he wished for privacy), the events that led to Voldemort living in her home, and every bit of suffering that followed up until her betrayal the night of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Andromeda had cried when she'd read Narcissa's words to Lucius about those final few moments when he'd hid her and their son away before the Death Eaters attacked. She cried harder when Narcissa detailed watching the Manor burn from a distance with Draco at her side. She wrote about it all: the emotions she felt, the pain, the parallels between her fate and the manor's, destined to be both consumed _and_ preserved by the never-ending magical fire.

It had been hailed as a poignant and harsh, yet _honest_ tale of a witch's journey through life on the wrong side of the war.

The bestseller that had propelled her into stardom after a brutal war.

Now that Narcissa was sitting in her office, Hermione wondered if she carried the same prejudices that had been instilled in her from birth or if war had taught her that there was a better way. Bigotry was hard to notice in oneself, and harder still to change, but it could be done.

Maybe change had already taken root, but Hermione would never know because Narcissa was still a private and proud woman. But only proud of what she had created, overcome, and achieved. Exactly in that order. The rest, Hermione could tell, was too murky for her to tackle with a patient she didn't intend on acquiring.

So, she waited out the silence by sipping her own tea—green with a twist of fresh lemon from her greenhouse. A quick glance was all the other woman received before Hermione continued detailing notes for Roger Davies, whom she intended on passing Narcissa's case along to.

He would enjoy the challenge.

"I thought you would ask more questions, Miss Granger."

"What would you like me to ask?" Hermione rested her elbows on the arm of her chair, relaxing as she tapped her fingertips together and looked the blonde witch straight in the eye. "I've read your file. Three times."

"Perhaps you might inquire about my current condition."

"Honestly, I don't specialise in your condition. But from what I've observed, the elixirs and potions they have prescribed you are either not working, not the correct combination, or you aren't taking them consistently." Then she waved her hand and the kettle lifted off the table, pouring hot tea into the glass teacup in front of her.

Narcissa hesitated for a moment before properly picking up the cup and taking a sip.

After noting her approval, Hermione continued on. "I've noticed that you are currently experiencing symptoms. Sweats, mainly, but if I were to run diagnostic charms on you, I would likely find your pulse and blood pressure elevated. You've taken particular care of your makeup, likely because it covers the fact that you aren't sleeping well, and you experience daytime drowsiness. I've poured tea for you because you don't seem to trust yourself. Have you dropped anything recently due to tremors? Have you ended up in a place not remembering how you got there? Have you mixed up people's identities? Even infrequently?"

Hermione noticed the slight twitch in Narcissa's jaw that confirmed both her observations and answers.

" _That's_ the nature of your disease. I don't have any questions about what I already know."

Narcissa sat the teacup on the saucer, looking stiff. "It seems that Draco did not exaggerate in any of his childhood accounts of your intelligence."

"It's my job to be observant." Hermione suppressed her chuckle by taking a quick sip of tea before continuing her notes and recommendation of care to Davies.

Narcissa took a delicate sip of tea. For a moment, she was quiet.

"I know what you must think of me coming here asking for your help after what happened between you and my sister."

Her tone was so matter-of-fact that it prompted Hermione's candid admission. "To be quite honest, until you came through my Floo today, I barely thought about you… Well, unless your _other_ sister mentioned you."

It wasn't often, but she kept that piece to herself.

And for good reason, judging by the stony look on Narcissa's face.

Over the years, Andromeda had seemed keen on reconnecting with her younger sister, but it had yet to happen. She'd spoken of it, wrote letter after letter, but hadn't sent a single one. Hermione wondered if finding out about Narcissa's illness would change things, but it wasn't her place to deliver that information.

"With that being said," Hermione continued, trying to steer them back into the realm of professional conversation befitting of their current meeting. "I know you aren't here to discuss the past, and neither am I. I'd like to leave it behind us. This is your time to speak about your goals and motivation for seeking treatment."

"As I decline, my condition will require constant care." It sounded like Narcissa had accepted her disease, which was honestly better than most patients in her predicament.

Hermione made a quick note to Davies. "I'm aware, but why specifically me?"

"You are the best, according to Theodore. I trust his judgment." Narcissa placed her half-empty teacup on the saucer and straightened her spine. "I cannot change my fate, but it appears that with the proper care, I will be able to buy myself time. I…" When she folded one hand over the other on Hermione's desk, she seemed to strip away all pretences and pride, highlighting the reality of her condition and her reason for seeking such specialised care.

At such a high price.

Patiently, she waited until Narcissa finally spoke. "I'm not finished preparing myself and my family. I also would prefer that my grandson not lose his mother _and_ grandmother so close together. He's just a boy."

An odd feeling came over her when she actually _allowed_ herself to think about the fact that Draco Malfoy—of _all_ people—had become a husband, father, _and_ widower before the age of thirty. And she was still… Well, _single_. No prospects. No children of her own.

Not that she was complaining or wanted a different circumstance, but it was a jarring comparison.

She dusted away the thought like an annoying piece of lint and kept moving forward.

"And Draco. He's… he's not ready to be alone."

A complex maelstrom of emotions warred across Narcissa's features right then; one that seemed to threaten to pull her under. Hermione remained a good distance away, trying to recall where she'd put the box of tissue and quietly summoning them from the table where her stubborn plants were fighting against nature itself.

Hermione wanted to tell her that, while she'd spent her life protecting her son, no one could prevent the inevitable. But she kept her thoughts to herself, firmly locked away as she waited patiently for Narcissa to pull herself together.

"I would like to see him settled and remarried before I… Well, sooner rather than later. He complies with my requests to take marriage meetings—" _Funny name for a date_ , she thought sarcastically. "But I know he is stalling. Biding his time. My son is an intelligent man but he's more stubborn than practical. He likes to control the things he can, and he thinks he can control this by waiting."

Hermione nodded along, half-listening.

She was still distracted by that bothersome piece of lingering mental lint.

Of course, she had known that Malfoy's father had been killed. Everyone knew and had mixed feelings about whether or not Lucius Malfoy had redeemed himself in death. It was such a grey area that Hermione vowed never to broach the subject; it wasn't her place.

Hermione also knew that Draco's marriage to Astoria Greengrass had been finalised the year his mother had published her book. Hermione had heard about the birth of his son, Scorpius, shortly before Al's birth in a roundabout way: the announcement had been splashed all over the society papers Hermione used as compost. Daphne had become a part of her circle of friends before she eloped with Dean, and she talked of her nephew from time to time, but mainly with Ginny because Albus was his age.

And when Astoria died last November, Daphne—who had been missing from their Friday gatherings during her younger sister's rapid decline—had turned up at Hermione's house at three in the morning the day of her funeral. She was in tears and didn't know what flowers to bring.

Flowers just from her.

Hermione had given her a pot of gladiolus from her greenhouse, told her to plant them by her graveside, and quietly spelled them to remain in a state of stasis. She'd never met Astoria, but from Daphne, she knew of her strength and sincerity.

The flowers seemed appropriate, but the act was done for a friend who was mourning.

Not for Draco Malfoy's deceased wife.

And while Hermione knew all of this, she had never spared a moment to analyse what any of that meant as it pertained to _Malfoy_ or his state of being. His job. His role as father and son. The threats against his family. Hermione never once thought about any of those events as something that had occurred in his life—incidents that could and would define him.

_But they had._

"You can't _make_ him prepare," Hermione said in an attempt to firmly push the thoughts away before they could completely crystallise. "It has to be a choice that he makes on his own. One that only _he_ can make."

"Perhaps." Narcissa lifted her head, still looking grim. "But I would like the time to try. For both of their futures. It is only proper that he marry to provide a mother for Scorpius, which is my goal while I am still alive." She looked as if she were trying to find something in Hermione's expression, and when she found whatever she was searching for, she rose to her feet, smoothing her robes with firm strokes. Her eyes widened slightly when Narcissa gave her a cold look. "It appears that I will not find the extra time I need under your care."

Hermione raised a single eyebrow in response.

"Just as _you_ are observant, Miss Granger, I am as well. I haven't lost myself just yet."

Hermione rested back on her chair and listened with a blank look on her face.

"I have seen enough Healers in the last year to know that, had you wished to accept me as a patient, this consultation would have gone very differently. You would have done your own diagnostic charms and compared them to the prior readings." She wasn't wrong. "You would have explained why your care has been described by many as exemplary and by now we would be reviewing parchments with a more detailed layout of your treatment plans."

There was no need to mince words; she'd never been good at it. "You're correct."

Hermione stood up as well and walked around her desk, approaching as the other witch watched her every move with sharp eyes. Narcissa certainly hadn't appreciated the rejection. No matter, Hermione didn't like the fact that she'd been put in this position in the first place. It was a moot point, but that didn't mean she would be rude.

Now, standing in front of Narcissa, she couldn't help but make comparisons between them. While the older witch was well put-together, even after her episode during the consultation, Hermione was not. Her hair was pulled back into a rushed bun and she wore comfortable, faded jeans, a long-sleeved grey shirt, and ankle-high Wellies. Not professional, but she had been checking on the outdoor herbs after a night of rain when she'd remembered the appointment.

There was still dirt on one of her knees, but she made no move to brush it away.

Instead, she stood straight under Narcissa's scrutiny.

"I'm referring you to Healer Davies. He's excellent and will be willing to accept the terms of your contract." With a wave of her hand, the door opened and the guards immediately filed in. "He would be the best to handle your specific needs."

Narcissa bristled. "Might I have a reason as to why you are refusing to accept me?" She held up a hand in gesture for her to wait. "I have answered my own question. Of course, it has to do with our history on opposite sides of the war."

"If that were the case, it _would_ be my right to make that decision." She inclined her head slightly to one side. "Don't you agree?"

A flash of something passed over the older witch's face, frustration or shame. She couldn't tell which, but she exhaled and didn't argue because she knew she couldn't. "I do."

Hermione noted the reluctance in her voice, but knew that it came from a place of pride. Honesty wasn't easy for everyone. "However, that simply isn't the truth." Hermione kept her tone direct but professional. "Regardless of the past, I don't work with patients that I know in any capacity due to the involved nature of the care that I provide. It's a rule of mine that's well-established, and I'm perplexed as to why Theo referred you to me knowing our history."

"Theodore has his own motivations."

 _That_ was something she could agree on. What the motivation was, she wasn't certain, but it had to be large if he thought she would break her rules and treat Narcissa for him. Hermione thought about asking if she knew Theo's end game, but the older witch likely wouldn't tell her without a price.

"I suppose he does. However, I don't need his approval to deny you," Hermione said bluntly, meeting Narcissa's hard gaze with one of her own. "I'll see to it that Roger gets your file and schedules an appointment with you as soon as possible. I wish you the best of luck."

"I thank you, Miss Granger," Narcissa said thinly, "for nothing more than wasting my time."

* * *

Hermione never learned to cook with magic.

Even under Mrs Weasley's tutelage, she had never been able to master the craft. Molly had said she lacked the drive—a phrase that had _never_ before been used to describe Hermione Granger.

But she might have had a point.

The issue wasn't a lack of interest, but rather that it never felt natural. Maybe it was due to years of eating her mum's failures and triumphs, but Hermione found very little joy in food that was too perfect. Something about a meal coming out a bit oblong or a touch too dark—one she had made with her own hands—was more appealing than one that was flawless thanks to the aid of magic.

Ron thought it was a pity that she'd never learned, but he never mentioned it again when she suggested that _he_ should be the one to join Harry in taking lessons from Molly if he wanted magically-cooked meals. Ron's silence was likely due to his inability to answer the question as to why he didn't need to learn in a way that wouldn't get him hexed.

When Hermione had moved into her house and started her vegetable patch, but before she'd started Healer Academy, she had been in a bookstore in Godric's Hollow, on the hunt for a book to help with her struggling wormwood plant. Neville had been busy, so she'd taken it upon herself to find the information she'd needed.

During her search, Hermione had walked down the wrong aisle and came face to face with a row of Muggle cookbooks. Impulsively, she'd purchased one that had _simple_ in the title.

It came with a free bookstand, and Hermione left happy with her decision…

Until a month later when she'd finally found a moment to attempt Shepherd's pie.

It had ended with Hermione using her wand to air out the smoke and char from her kitchen. She'd quickly learned the error of her ways and decided to start from scratch—eggs and boiled potatoes—then grew on that.

_Improved._

Worked until she was ready to try recipes out of the book again.

Cooking was a lot like potions: if she followed the recipes verbatim, she wouldn't have any issues. And while that wasn't always true, she still used her skills in brewing to get better.

After a series of lacklustre attempts while discovering the art of seasoning with herbs and spices, the first successful meal Hermione had made—that her friends genuinely enjoyed—was Beef Wellington. She'd made it to celebrate finishing her first year of Healer Academy, and as they ate and raved, Hermione had felt a sense of accomplishment that waving her wand to cook couldn't replicate.

After the conclusion of her appointment with Narcissa, Hermione—now _far_ more proficient—didn't have the time needed to recreate her first success for dinner with her friends that evening, so she opted for something simple: Coq Au Vin with roasted new potatoes and a salad made with homegrown spring greens.

She'd just set the warming charms on her meal and started prepping the salad when Harry stepped out the Floo. Ginny had taken the kids to Shell Cottage that morning for the weekend so they could spend time with their older cousins, Louis and Dominique, who hadn't gone off to Hogwarts yet.

Harry brought over a Pinot Noir and a bottle of Ogden's because they'd finished the last one the previous Friday, which had made Saturday _rough_. Al hadn't minded just lying in the conservatory after their walk towards the forest because, even after a hangover potion, Hermione hadn't been able to do much else.

"Hey, it smells great in here. Do you need any help?"

Harry was always willing to help however he could, but Hermione sat down the knife she was using to chop the red peppers for the salad and shook her head.

"I'm putting the last bit into the salad, so no." She grinned at her best friend, accepting both his embrace and the wine she put in the chiller. The Ogden's went under the island, stored with the rest of the liquors she'd collected over the years. "We're just waiting for everyone else."

"Who all is coming?"

"Ron and Pansy." First, Harry rolled his eyes, because the two constantly argued, but then he smirked; she knew he rather enjoyed the bickering. Hermione laughed. "She promised to behave."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Fair point." Hermione shrugged. "How was your day?" She asked carefully. It would be rude if she didn't, even though she already knew the answer.

Harry had been promoted to Head of the Auror Department after the prior Head had gotten so fed up with Draco Malfoy that he'd retired eight years early just to avoid working with him. Harry had no illusions about the reason he'd been promoted. He was, after all, The Boy Who Lived… Twice.

And the Ministry used Harry the same way they had once tried to use her: as a symbol, a prop. He was a promotional tool they wielded to maintain the public's trust, without any power to make real change. But unlike her, Harry had accepted the role for his own reasons. He believed that the reason behind his promotion wouldn't negate the good he could accomplish. He was determined to eliminate the threat of the Death Eaters, not just for the wizarding world, but for his family as well.

His new position had come with an office, a more generous salary, and the very large task of collaborating with the Terrorism Task Force… _and_ Draco Malfoy. The Wizengamot had put pressure on them both to make measurable progress as the public's disapproval with the Ministry as a whole continued to decline, especially after a Death Eater attack in December that had levelled an entire wizarding village as nothing more than a message to the Ministry.

And yet, despite the heavy odds, underfunding, and general chaos, they'd had a few successes and captured a handful of high-ranking Death Eaters in the last two months. However, that wasn't enough to appease the Wizengamot.

But Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither were their problems. Hermione found it appalling that they'd had the audacity to give them so little and demand so much, but she didn't work at the Ministry, so it wasn't her place to object. Mostly.

Things had been tense.

It didn't help that the two men at the centre of it all could barely stand each other. After years of therapy, Harry had learned better coping skills, addressed his childhood trauma, and made peace with the long list of losses he'd endured along the way. He was calmer now that the piece of Voldemort had been killed off, able to focus. He smiled more and was harder to anger, especially after becoming a father…

 _But_ he hadn't quite gotten past his old grudge.

Not completely.

There was something about Malfoy that woke up the fifteen-year-old inside of Harry that wanted very much to punch him in the face.

Regularly.

 _Repeatedly_.

Harry ranted about him often enough that Hermione would complete several mental tasks, make her list for the market, update her to-do list, and do a little aimless mind-wandering while Harry let it all out. It never failed that whatever she did, whenever she returned to him, he would _still_ be complaining.

Today was no exception.

"My day was normal in that _Malfoy_ was being an utter _bastard_." Harry threw up his hands just as Hermione started the timer on her watch. She wanted to know if he would break his own rant record this time. "Remember that raid I told you about?"

She nodded mechanically.

Malfoy, after an exhaustive search, had located the Welsh hideout for the Lestrange brothers at the end of last year. Then, he'd recruited a wizard to infiltrate their ranks. Two weeks ago, that spy had reported back that there would be a meeting with the highest-ranking Death Eaters, but the date was not yet known, only that it would be before the end of May.

From what Harry had disclosed, it'd seemed like they could end it all during this raid.

Everyone had been discreetly preparing. Curse-Breakers were slowly being pulled off assignment to examine evidence and dark objects found that would assist the prosecution. Hit Wizards and Magical Law Officers were being pulled in to grow their numbers. But they hadn't had the time or capacity for the training needed to make them a more unified front.

"Yeah… Well, he's dismissed every team lead I've suggested without any reason beyond thinking they're incompetent, but wouldn't suggest Aurors that he approves of because that's _my_ job."

Hermione kept her flinch inward, but only just barely. She could practically _hear_ those words coming from Draco—well, the sixteen-year-old version of him. She hadn't been in the same room as the adult version, and thus had no reference material unless she counted Harry's accounts.

And, well, her best friend was a lot of things, but he wasn't _always_ a reliable source when it came to Draco Malfoy. _However,_ if she were to judge his character based on Harry's complaints and the bits she had heard about him, Hermione would say he was still the same bastard he'd been during school.

No matter how incredibly fit Parvati found him.

"Every plan I've designed around entry points into the Manor, he's rejected. He called them simple and said I'll get everyone killed, that my freakishly good luck only extends to me."

Privately, Hermione heard that in Malfoy's teenaged voice and wondered if it was too early to open the new bottle of Ogden's.

_For him._

" _Oh!"_ Harry snapped his fingers. "And _then_ , I recommended Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and Malfoy said no, because it's too messy."

He wasn't _wrong_ , but Hermione didn't say anything. _Yet_.

"I brought in a Wards Expert to remove the ward, but he found someone else—a _p_ _ureblood_ —to do it." Harry, whose cheeks had gone red, balled his fists. One of the _several_ anger management tips he'd learned over the years.

It didn't look to be working because he was in full-on rant mode.

"I just _hate_ that when we meet with the Wizengamot, I have to pretend like everything is just _fine_. Pretend that I'm not working with the biggest wanker I've _ever_ known! And I have to act like a fucking _professional_ when all I want to do is _toss_ him out my window _every single time_ I see his _ferret face!_ " Harry took two deep, cleansing breaths, a technique he'd picked up from Ginny's Lamaze classes. Then he smiled. "That felt _good_. Better out than in."

"True." Hermione stopped her watch, hoping he didn't realise that she had been timing his Malfoy-centred rants.

He hated when she did that.

The record had been six minutes and thirteen seconds—set the day of their first meeting as heads of their respective departments. They'd nearly come to blows. Today, he hadn't even been close.

One minute and thirty-seven seconds.

Hermione cleared her throat and hoped she wouldn't start another rant with her perspective on the matter. She'd hate to have to restart the clock. "While I don't entirely disagree with Malfoy…" At the betrayed look on her best friend's face, she raised both hands. "Hear me out, Harry. He's got a point about Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It's a hindrance that will only cause more injuries through friendly fire. Besides, last I heard, the Hand of Glory was locked away in the Department of Mysteries. I doubt _anyone_ will approve its usage given its tendency to wind up in the wrong hands."

At that, Harry pulled face, frowning deeply. "I didn't think about it like that." He rolled his eyes. "If he'd said it like that, I wouldn't have argued so hard about it."

Malfoy probably would have, but Hermione let Harry think that while she sat the bowl with the mixed salad in the fridge to keep cool while they waited.

The next person arrived not long after that.

As soon as Hermione shut the door and turned around, ready to bring up Tiberus' visit, Pansy arrived with a small pop, wearing a long-sleeved turquoise bohemian play dress that had small flowers she couldn't identify from across the room.

She did, however, recognise the positively _thunderous_ look on Pansy's face. If Hermione were a betting person, she'd wager her entire Gringotts vault on the possibility that _she_ was the source of Pansy's ire. If not for the glare of her icy blue eyes, then for the fact that she started yelling before Harry could greet her.

"I can't _believe_ you rejected her as a patient!"

Hermione had never considered herself an overly emotional person. There were moments when her heart won out over her brain, moments when she reacted too quickly. She was human, after all, and that meant she constantly found herself balancing between hundreds of extremes. But generally, she prided herself on using her brain and logic to sort through every situation as it manifested itself.

And this was an issue.

While maintaining detachment, Hermione approached the island where Harry sat in wide-eyed silence while the witch to the right of him practically panted her indignation. Though there were _several_ questions that crossed her mind— _How? What? When? Who?_ —she cast them aside to focus on Pansy before her burning anger left scorch marks on everything.

"This is about Narcissa Malfoy." It was an overly calm, rhetorical statement designed to distract Pansy. And it worked. Her eyes went wide as she sputtered like a fish out of water; her mouth opened and closed just as fast.

Before she could get her second wind, Hermione rested one hand on the granite. "I have theories about how you managed to find out so quickly, or why you're involved in this matter to begin with, but I won't deny that I rejected her as a patient."

" _Why_? And don't waste your breath spouting your Healer rubbish about not being able to be objective because you know her. I wasn't born yesterday, Granger."

"I don't tell you how to do your job, so you don't get to tell me how to do mine."

Harry cleared his throat. "How about I just—"

Without taking her eyes off Pansy, Hermione raised her hand. "Stop talking, Harry."

"Okay."

"Don't talk to him like that!" Pansy cut her eyes at Harry, who looked just as surprised by her defence before she swore violently. "What the—you've got me defending _Potter_ , for fuck's sake! You owe me a drink when I stop being mad at you. _Shite_ , that didn't even feel right."

Harry frowned like he wanted to be offended, but then he shrugged. She had a point.

Hermione, on the other hand, examined Pansy with a probing look the other witch always hated. In fact, she probably would have hissed like a cat had they not had an audience. "I'm surprised you're the one arguing on her behalf and not her actual _son_."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Draco would sooner choke on his pride and _die_ than ask for help from _anyone_. It's not his way. It's never _been_ his way. Control issues _galore_. Their relationship is strained at best, anyway, and he has enough problems on his hands. The threats. Work. I'd say Scorpius, too, but he's not involved in child-rearing. That's Narcissa's job now that Astoria's gone."

Hermione recalled that bothersome thought one more time before firmly locking it away.

And throwing away the key.

Hermione tilted her head. "Why do you care?"

"I've known Narcissa my entire life. She's been more of a mother to me than my own, and that was _before_ she burned me." Pansy looked away then back, touching her hair, seemingly uneasy with her own candidness—especially around Harry, who looked intrigued. "As soon as she heard what happened, she gave me a chance to get away from it all until I was ready to stand on my own two feet."

She spoke of Narcissa like Hermione spoke of Mrs Weasley.

It was a comparison she couldn't ignore.

"When she told me about her illness, and Theo said that he was going to ask you to take her case, I was relieved because I knew she would be in the best hands. I hoped she might live as long as possible. Scorpius, though, while I don't exactly agree with how rigid she is with his schooling, needs the stability as long as possible. And I've seen how dedicated you are to your patients. I thought…" Her voice went brittle. "Well, _obviously_ I thought wrong."

"Have you _seen_ me with my patients? Because I don't believe you truly have. I essentially become a part of their lives. I monitor everything from their meals to their family situations, and should anything negatively affect them, I rectify the situation. I grow the ingredients for their potions in my greenhouse, and what I can't find, I acquire, no matter how specific."

Pansy tried to interject. "I—"

"It takes _time_ and _effort_ and a certain finesse that's not typical of any Healer out there. The meals they eat are from _my_ vegetable patch, made by _my_ own hands. I'm not just their Healer, I don't simply wave a wand, feed them potions, and make them better. I look out for their physical, mental, and emotional health. I help their families, because most people forget how much of a difference a supportive and knowledgeable family can make when it comes to a patient's care. Narcissa's, from what little I got from her today, is convoluted at best. Not to mention the fact that I don't even specialise in her disease."

Pansy folded her arms across her chest. "I know that. _All_ of that."

"Then you should understand why I won't take her. Don't judge what you don't understand."

For a moment, her blue eyes were unguarded and open. "She just wants _time_ , Hermione."

"Roger will be—"

" _Davies?_ " She blanched. "That pompous _prat_? He'd sooner—"

"It's not about Roger's personality. It's about his ability to do his job objectively. Narcissa and I have _history_ , Pansy, and it's complicated. That's like asking Harry to take care of her. It's—"

"I'd do it," Harry interrupted with a small, casual shrug. When the both turned their attention back to him, he ran a hand through his perpetually unruly hair. "What?" She caught sight of his famous scar before he brushed his hair back over it. "We've been writing for _years_ now. Not often, but a few times. Her letters come to Grimmauld Place."

Pansy gaped at him. Hermione almost did as well.

He didn't seem particularly bothered. "I had tea with her there when she returned to the country. It was right before Malfoy took the position. Andromeda was supposed to join us, but she declined at the last minute."

Sometimes Harry caught her by surprise with the things he kept to himself.

Pansy stared at him intensely. "You'd help her?"

"Yeah." He shrugged again, looking between the two witches. "At one point, she helped us all…"

His response was simple in its totality and yet it said so much more.

* * *

Hermione's favourite room in her house was the conservatory.

It was a glass-paned addition located just off her kitchen with pitched ceilings that gave her a room with a view of the beautiful land around her home. It reminded her that she was part of the natural order. From any spot, she could see the world beyond her vegetable patch, the separate cobblestone walk that led from the steps to the fence, the field, and the trees in the distance that divided the end of her property and the start of the dense forest. But when simply looking wasn't enough, there was a door that opened up to that world.

Pansy had spent the better part of winter turning it into an oasis with creative lighting, floor to ceiling trellis in each corner for climbing roses, decorative rugs that kept the stone floor warm, and a small jungle of plants and flowers elegantly arranged in different places in the room.

The lounge area was in the centre of the room, with a dark resin wicker sofa, settee, and two matching chairs, all with plush, cream cushions. They artfully surrounded a glass top table lined with candles that were spelled to turn on whenever someone entered the room. To the right, just beyond the lounge area, was a reading nook tucked off with lamps and a comfortable chaise large enough for two people.

It wasn't uncommon for her to fall asleep in the chaise under a blanket while reading a book.

Or while gazing at the stars.

To the left of the lounge was an eating area with creative lighting for when it got too dark. Hermione's original dining table—a circular glass table with six chairs she'd been too sentimental to give up—served as the focal point of the area. It wasn't uncommon for Hermione to have dinner out there with guests. Or alone.

Tonight, the four of them sat comfortably, eating the meal Hermione had prepared, chatting under floating lamps that lined the stone outer wall of her home. The sun had dipped behind the trees as purple dusk began its mission to take over the sky and prepare it for nightfall. The stars would be making an appearance soon, too, and it was forecasted to be clear enough for them to enjoy the sight.

While Ron and Harry talked and joked around like always, Hermione drifted in and out of their conversation. They grew more animated as dinner progressed and their lips loosened over the lager Ron brought with him.

Neither were keen on the wine she and Pansy drank.

As usual, Ron sat a little too close. Close enough for her to feel his thigh brush against hers every now and then. Close enough for her to catch a small whiff of the scent she often associated with him. Hermione knew what he was doing, the goal he was trying to accomplish. Ron wasn't nearly as subtle as he thought, especially when he rested his hand on the back of her chair while talking to Harry.

He wanted her to let him back in, and he would keep trying bit by bit until she did.

But Hermione was more than stubborn, she was uninterested. So, when his fingers absently brushed against her hair, she scooted away, silently shutting him out while Pansy looked at him in disapproval.

Hermione found herself more focused on Pansy than Ron during the course of their meal and conversation. Pansy had let the earlier conversation lapse with Ron's arrival, but she was well aware the other witch was plotting. Pansy was more tolerable than expected. _Tactfully amicable_ was a term that surfaced in Hermione's mind when she'd only looked mildly disgusted as Ron waved a chicken bone in the air while explaining something or other to Harry.

Pansy would play nice and bide her time like a coiled snake, waiting for the perfect moment to strike her prey. And Hermione was _no one's_ prey.

The wards alerted Hermione to the arrival of an unexpected guest.

She immediately looked at Ron on her right. "Percy's here."

"Who is _that?_ " Pansy nearly spit out her sip of wine.

"Ron's brother." Hermione nudged Ron with her elbow as he tried to figure out why his brother was there. Then she wanted it to dawn on him.

"Oh, _right_." He jumped from his seat and headed towards the door. Not paying attention, he nearly clipped the settee, but recovered. "He's bringing our tickets to the Cannons game tomorrow."

"The tickets weren't free?" Pansy asked with a bemused look on her face. "As if I'd pay one _Knut_ to see them _lose_."

At her comment, Ron looked both outraged and insulted. The two emotions waged war over the right to be expressed first, but ultimately, he ended up sputtering like an engine that failed to start and vanished into her house after giving Pansy a deathly glare she simply laughed at. Harry and Hermione chuckled into their respective drinks and exchanged knowing looks.

Pansy wasn't _wrong_ , but neither one would even so much as _hint_ at that to their friend.

Hermione watched as the witch finished the rest of her wine and stood, pushing her chair in. "I have now reached my _Weasley_ quota for one day."

Hermione would have explained, but thought it better for her to find out on her own

Harry, however, tried to give her a clue. "Percy's different."

"Does he have table manners?" It was a very serious question for someone like Pansy Parkinson.

"In a manner of speaking," he answered cryptically.

Hermione laughed, resting her hand on her cheeks, warmed from the wine.

Pansy blinked at him incredulously. "In a manner of—haven't I suffered _enough_? Of—"

"Good evening." Percy's polite yet posh baritone floated from the doorway before he approached the table with Ron.

Everyone turned to look.

That was the sort of presence Percy had developed over the years.

He'd always been _different_ , but over time, he'd grown out of his desperate need to prove he was better than his family and their circumstances. He'd become a man who knew _exactly_ who he was, where he'd come from, and what he was worth. Percy, who was the head of the International Magical Office of Law, walked with a sort of pride that reflected all he'd learned and experienced.

Hermione couldn't help but notice that the two brothers—in addition to being contraries in personality—were also visual opposites. Ron had made an effort tonight with dark jeans, a white shirt, and brushed hair. Taller than all of his siblings except George, he moved with a swagger of self-assurance, like someone that was settled and without a care in the world.

Percy, on the other hand, possessed the ease of a seasoned diplomat. Tonight, he looked almost casual in grey tailored trousers, a matching waistcoat, and a white and purple chequered shirt. No bowtie.

Hermione had never seen Pansy look so confused. " _You're_ a Weasley?"

"I _am."_ Percy looked taken aback by her brashness, but he recovered smoothly. "And you are…"

He allowed the question to linger, but when Pansy didn't respond—as she was too busy blinking at him like her brain had short-circuited—Hermione helped her out. "This is Pansy."

Percy's blue eyes briefly cut over to Hermione before returning to the black-haired witch. " _Ah_." He took another step towards her, courteously extending his hand. "And your surname?"

Finally, she remembered herself, but didn't move to accept his offered hand. In fact, she looked at it, then back up at him. "I'm between surnames right now."

Harry almost choked on his drink. Ron, who had returned to his seat during the introduction, slapped him on the back. Percy suppressed a smirk of his own, but didn't retract his hand, maintained eye-contact with an almost determined look on his face. For a moment, Hermione thought she'd have to intervene, but only a few more seconds passed before she extended hers as well.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Percy said.

Ron glared at his brother. " _Oi!_ I thought you were coming just to say hello to Harry and Hermione."

"I've changed my mind," he said to Ron while still staring at Pansy, whose cheeks had taken on a slight colour under his fixed gaze. She cleared her throat as she slowly pulled her hand free of his. Hermione didn't miss the way she flexed her fingers before closing it into a fist and tucking that arm behind her back.

Pansy's eyes cut to her, then flickered around the room as if she were searching for something important. _Probably_ the portal back to the universe where everything made sense to her.

She almost laughed at the thought.

"If you don't mind the intrusion," Percy glanced at Hermione, "I think I'll stay."

"Of course not. Pansy here was just _leaving_."

Percy glanced back at her. "Oh, you are?"

"To get more wine, of course." Pansy cleared her throat.

She did just that before Hermione could remind her of the half-full bottle right there on the table.

Percy took the empty chair next to hers, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his trousers. She glanced over at Harry, who was watching the man with a raised eyebrow that peeked over the thick rim of his glasses. Ron started talking about the seats for the game while Hermione followed her best friend's line of sight back to Percy, who was now making sure his already perfect red hair was just right.

Hermione tipped back the rest of her wine. "How was your day, Percy?"

Percy completely bypassed her question. "I didn't offend her, did I?"

"Why does it matter?" Ron looked confused. "It's just Pansy _bleeding_ —"

"Shut _up_ , Ron," Harry and Hermione said simultaneously.

The answer to his question was no, but it was also very precarious.

However, it wasn't her place to tell him any of that.

Being burned and ostracised from society had turned Pansy into a cautious person, a planner who liked to know what was coming so she could adequately prepare herself. She was excellent at reading people. The sort of witch who was jaded— _or arrogant_ —enough to believe herself immune to being surprised by anyone or anything. The last time she had seen Pansy surprised by a person's actions had been when Hermione hugged her while she cried therapeutic tears over her first finished project. Pansy thought she'd had it—and everyone—figured out, and was just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.

Hermione never had the heart to tell her truth: the game of life didn't have a standard set of rules. Humans were more complicated than whatever system she had used to sort them all. One day she would meet someone she couldn't immediately categorise.

And judging by the way she'd bolted, that day was today. And that person was Percy Weasley.

Percy was the only one that stood when Pansy returned with a single wine glass in her hand. She offered no excuses for why she hadn't grabbed another bottle either. In truth, she looked far more composed until he pulled out her chair.

She stared at him.

He held her gaze.

The standoff lasted until Ron abruptly stopped talking about the game and glared at them both. "Oh, for fuck's sake, just sit down, will you?" They both glared at him, but he didn't even care. "Percy thinks of himself as a perfect gentleman. Bit of a tosser, really." Ron only half meant it based on the smirk on his face.

Pansy's frown deepened into distaste and her eyes narrowed into tiny slits, but she placed her wine glass on the table and sat down without further argument. Percy adjusted her chair and returned to his before reaching for an empty glass and the bottle on the table, chilled with magic.

He poured himself a perfectly proper amount then turned to Pansy. "Would you care for more wine?"

She was hesitant, still puzzled by his entire existence, when she said, "Yes, please."

Percy smiled.

_The two most powerful warriors are patience and time._

**Leo Tolstoy**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First, thanks to my beta, dreamsofdramione and my alpha reader Bailey404, and my cheerleaders, who put up with my mess. I had a BLAST writing the beginning of this chapter with Hermione and Tiberius. Wanted to show Hermione in full-on could-have-been-a-politician mode. AKA Beast Mode. And some of you all guessed it, Narcissa was the mystery patient. And you already know that's not over. I loved writing Narcissa. She's fantastic and the tension and clash between them was so much fun to do. Funny story, when I started writing this story, the Narcissa/Hermione exchange was the very first scene I wrote. Then I went back and wrote what's now chapter 1. And you've met my main side couple. In a way.
> 
> **In other news, after October 30th's update, we're going to weekly posts beginning that following week.**
> 
> *pants and vanishes to write*


	4. Theory of Incompatibility

**  
Four  
** _Theory of Incompatibility_

_**  
March 25, 2011** _

  
Hermione had always been fascinated by the stars.

Sometimes, on nights that were clear and unseasonably warm, she would wait until everything was quiet and take a blanket out into the pasture behind her house to lay out and gaze up at the sky.

It made Hermione feel small, overlooked, but she liked that.

Every pain and anxiety she carried from war and recovery, the worries that fluttered in and out of her mind even now, everything that culminated and threatened to consume her—it all seemed less overwhelming whenever she inhaled, exhaled, and understood that she was just one person in the middle of something much larger than herself. The universe. And Hermione knew her place in it. She was vital to few, important to some, a face in the crowd to others, and a stranger to most.

Overall insignificant in the greater cycle of nature.

There to serve her purpose. To just _live_ life the best way she knew how.

During those brief, tranquil moments, while in contact with the earth and dwarfed by the heavens above, she felt held, content, and at peace. _Free_. Insignificance, she'd realised during therapy, wasn't demeaning, simply a reminder that she didn't _have_ to be anything and everything at all moments.

Only herself for _that_ moment.

And because of her understanding, it was as if the entire universe had unlocked itself, stretching out before her, filling her up with the notion that anything was possible.

Tonight she didn't wait for very long after Girls Night concluded before she made her way outside with her blanket. Still warm from the wine Pansy had insisted they drink so they wouldn't crash like they had the week before, Hermione laid out in the grass and observed the sky. The night was clear, with just enough thin clouds to partially obscure the waning gibbous moon, allowing her to properly observe the sky that was dotted with stars.

Some were large, others little more than a speck to her naked eye, but it was all stunning.

The sound of peaceful wildlife and chirping bugs was calming. Peaceful. Hermione spotted the Big Dipper first, tilting rightward on its handle, then followed it towards Polaris. Then back up and over, where she landed on the ever-present _Draco_ , who weaved his way between both dippers. From tip to head, Hermione used her finger to draw the dragon's body in the sky. She was moving towards Eltanin when the hum of her wards drew her attention.

Nothing alarming, just Harry and Ron.

A surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

Hermione turned her head to watch them approach, identifying them less because of their magical signatures, and more by the way they walked. Even in the grass, Ron walked too loudly, while Harry moved with the stealth of a cat due to years of being both an Auror and a parent. He was also more identifiable because he'd come bearing another blanket—one that looked to have come from her sofa.

Thoughtful.

She never accounted for how cool it would get while she was out there.

Harry took to unfolding the blanket while Ron plopped down next on her after greeting her with a boyish smile. The moonlight made it possible for her to see the colour of his eyes and the flush of his cheeks. "Hey."

"Hey," Hermione returned as he settled next to her. "You smell like a pub."

Ron laughed like he always did when he was pissed. "Seamus was in town and we had to take advantage of Harry's free night. We met up at The Leaky, but ended up across town at a bar closer to Dean's house. He didn't want to be too far away from Daphne."

"She's not due until June."

Ron only shrugged in response; he had no practical experience with babies outside his nieces and nephews.

Harry fanned out the blanket and covered them both. "She wasn't feeling well."

"Ah." She'd have to pay her a visit and bring her the teas she'd made just for her.

Pretty soon, she was wedged between her first friends, all huddled under the same blanket.

Warm. Content. It felt like home. _It felt like family._

That feeling had never changed.

Harry was looking up at the sky, with his hands behind his head. Hermione knew he had no idea what he was looking at because he'd never bothered to remember what they'd learned in Astronomy. Ron was in a similar position, with one hand tucked behind his head and the other mere centimetres from hers, equally as unaware.

She moved her hand away, placing it on her stomach.

They laid in perfect silence for so long that Ron dozed off, his head right at her shoulder, his breath on her arm. It was only when he let out a light snore that Harry said, "I didn't want you to find out about Narcissa Malfoy like that."

It was the last thing she'd expected him to say. "You don't have to tell me everything."

He lifted up and used one hand to scrub his face. "Yeah, I know, but still… I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure how I felt about it myself. It…wasn't bad. She's…" After struggling to find the words, he settled on: " _Interesting_."

It was reflex that made her snort in disagreement, but Harry laughed all the same.

The witch _she'd_ met could be described as far more than merely interesting.

 _Complicated_ seemed more like it. Also: shrewd, overbearing, and proud. Still, she understood why Theo had recommended her over Susan.

"I learned a significant amount of fairly useless information, mostly about wizarding etiquette, but she wasn't mean." Harry shrugged. "Malfoy reminds me of her when he glaring or questioning someone's status as a being capable of higher thought. So, basically all the time." Harry shook his head in amusement. "Oh, and she asked me why I named all my children after dead people, so that was fun."

There was a moment's pause before they both started laughing.

Even based on Hermione's limited knowledge of her as a person, that sounded very much like something Narcissa Malfoy would ask. "What did you say in response?"

"I asked her why everyone in the Black family was named after constellations. She looked at me as if I were a special sort of idiot before she said: _tradition_. Then, she gave me a look that said _'your move'_ and I just shut up after that."

Hermione couldn't hold back her laughter. "She's sharp, that's for sure."

Which made her inevitable decline all the more tragic. And sobering. Humbling. Everything she'd created, built, and overcome she would soon forget. Hermione couldn't imagine losing her memories. They were a piece of who she was: the good _and_ the bad. Her connection between the past and present which would pave the way for the future.

Losing all of that was a fate no one deserved.

One worse than death.

In one breath, Hermione confessed a thought that had been weighing on her since her meeting with Narcissa. "She knew I was going to turn her down before I said anything."

At that, Harry's eyes found hers. She could barely see the flecks of green in the darkness, just his signature confused expression.

"Why _did_ you turn her down? I won't act like I understand your job, because I don't, but I've never seen you decline anyone."

"I don't work with people I know."

Ron snuffled in his sleep, his hair tickling her jawline.

"Do you _really_ know her?" Harry asked. "Outside of _that_ day, you've got little idea about who she is or who she's become since the war. I confess I still don't, but as a parent, I understand her reasons for wanting to be accepted into your care. If I had to, I'd ask _Malfoy_ for help if it meant more time with my kids."

Hermione _highly_ doubted that, no matter how serious he sounded.

"Besides, you worked with Molly after her poisoning."

"That's different," Hermione argued gently, unable to raise her voice at him in any way. They'd been through too much for that. "Narcissa is going to need _years_ of care to fight a battle she's never going to win."

"Who better to have on her side than _you_?"

She stared at her best friend for a long time, repeating his question in her head over and over without being able to formulate a response. Ron moved, mumbling inaudible words under his breath as he shifted closer to her.

Harry's brow went up. "On to a different topic of conversation: what are you going to do about _that_?" He nodded in Ron's direction. When she gave him a long look, he feigned an innocent expression. "I'm not getting involved, just asking a question."

With a sigh, Hermione rolled her eyes. "What's there _to_ do? We broke up. _Years ago_. Messily, as I'm sure you remember."

The look on his face clearly told her to stop kidding herself. He'd never put himself in the middle of their drama, not even while they were dating. He'd always played the role of the mediator. When it got too bad, he just hid from them both until whatever fight had been resolved.

Better than choosing a side.

"You know what I mean, Hermione." Harry frowned. "He thinks—"

"I'm aware of what he thinks, but he's wrong."

"Then maybe you should start dating." He ran a hand through his dark hair, messing it up beyond repair. Clearly, he wanted to have the conversation less than she did, but that didn't stop him from talking about it. "As long as you're single, he'll always think he has a chance. He'll _never_ let up. He's stubborn like that— _like you_." She cut him down with another glare that seemed to roll off him like water. "Hear me out, if you're not so available, he'll—"

"I don't want to date someone just to make a point. You know that's not who I am."

"I'm not saying that." Harry kept his voice low, his words slow and measured. "I'm saying bring someone around and show Ron that you aren't an option."

"Me simply _saying_ I'm not an option should be enough."

Harry scratched his hairline. "I know, I do."

"Then why bring it up at all? Why not encourage _him_ to move on?"

"I _have_ been, but he's insistent this time. If you're unavailable, he'll get the message, and I won't have to listen to his plans for getting you back knowing full well they won't work."

Hermione sighed; she knew how much of a strain their failure to launch had put on him. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

Harry knew her well enough to know that she hardly ever made impulsive decisions. Breaking up with Ron hadn't even been one. Quitting the Ministry. Healing. Nothing was done rashly. Only after deep thought and consideration of all points.

Shifting a bit on the blanket, he turned his body towards her, opened his mouth, and paused thoughtfully. "I know you'll tell everyone who will listen how happy you are _as_ you are, but I also know you, Hermione. I know you're stagnant because you're looking for something you haven't found yet."

She stared at her closest friend, but didn't argue. In the quiet around them, Hermione could admit that he wasn't wrong. Her heart was thudding in her chest when she asked, "What do you think I'm looking for?"

"What most people look for. Something deeper… something with greater meaning. Connection. Emotion. Something real. I hope you find it. I know I don't say it as much as I should, but I do appreciate everything you do. We all do. You give a lot—not just to your patients, but to us as well, especially with Albus. Sometimes, I worry that it's too much."

Hermione shoved him lightly. "Are you getting maudlin on me, Harry?"

"No." He rolled his eyes. "But it would be nice for you to get something back in return."

She bit her lip. "I do get fulfillment from helping everyone. I'm content and I know my limits." She saw his expression turn serious in the near darkness, which made her stop. A light breeze danced in the trees. "Everything that I do is because I _want_ to. You know that, right? I don't do it to get something back."

"And that makes you deserve whatever it is you want even more…"  
  


* * *

_**  
March 28, 2011** _

  
No one was more surprised than Molly when Hermione turned up at the Burrow bright and early on Monday morning with a wicker basket full of fresh cauliflower, leeks, chicory, and onions. She'd also brought along a container of fresh eggs from her small chicken coop.

It wasn't much, but they didn't need to keep much around anymore. At least not until the first Sunday of each month when all the Weasleys, family friends, their significant others, and any children not away at Hogwarts gathered for family dinner. Appreciative as always, Molly asked her to stay for a while and had a cup of tea ready before she could decline.

That was her way, after all. Nurturing, albeit a bit pushy.

But her heart was always in the right place.

"How are you feeling, dear?" Mrs Weasley wore that motherly smile that made her grin as well. Molly reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. "You're not working too hard, are you?"

"I'm doing well, not working too hard, I promise." Hermione sipped her tea, noting the slice of lemon in her Earl Grey and Molly had gotten the sugar just right. For a brief moment, she thought about how strange it was that the line of questioning that had driven her to irritation with her own mother sounded so different coming from Molly. "I've just gotten my last assignment swapped over to a Primary Healer for maintenance. He's doing quite well. It's remarkable."

"That's exciting, dear. I saw his wife in Diagon Alley and she couldn't stop singing your praises. I'm so happy for their family to be whole again." Her smile was genuine, if a little sad like it always was when she thought about Fred.

It wasn't much, but it was all Molly could muster. Grief never arrived or left on a particular schedule, so Hermione readied herself by scooting her chair closer and resting her head on Molly's shoulder. For several quiet minutes, they stayed like that until the older woman affectionately squeezed her arm.

"Thank you."

Hermione lifted her head and nodded. "Anytime."

Mrs Weasley smiled softly at her. "You do look rested."

"I slept well last night." She, Harry, and Ron had spent the evening watching movies at Harry's house. It was his last night before Ginny and the kids returned from Shell Cottage, but he had to work so they weren't up too late. Ron had the next day off and had seen her home.

"Good, now drink up before it gets cold." Hermione scooted back, obediently taking another sip of her still hot tea. "I'm glad that you're resting between assignments. I'm proud of you, but you really do tend to overextend while you're working. Don't forget to make time for yourself."

"I won't." _Again._

The unspoken implication hung in the air between the two women.

More than any awkwardness between Harry, Hermione had worried most about what Molly would think when she broke things off with Ron. By then, she had become more than just a mother figure; she was someone she trusted. Confided in. Of course, Hermione had never agreed with her more traditional views, but she'd never met a belief she didn't challenge. They could disagree and she would still love her.

Simple as that.

Over the years, Molly had given her example after example of how blood didn't always make a family. She was supportive when Hermione returned from Australia with only her parents' forgiveness and their phone number, holding her long after she'd cried herself to sleep. And she'd continued that support through her breakup with Ron. Molly had even been there when she'd woken up in St Mungo's, fragile and lost. She'd seen her through recovery and therapy, Healer Academy, and beyond. Never wavering, sometimes lecturing, but always loving her.

And, unexpectedly, Hermione had returned the good deed two years ago when Molly had come into contact with a letter that had been smeared with poison and delivered to the Burrow. She'd taken over her care, brewing the antidote with time to spare and no lasting effects.

It was after that incident when Hermione figured out the spell that made them all Unplottable.

"Have you and Neville started planning the next planting season? If you haven't yet, let me know when. I'd love to come over and help."

"Oh, you don't. We can—"

"I insist," Molly said with a smile. "The wars, losing my brothers, Fred, and everyone else… It made me realise just how precious time is. Being poisoned reminded me of that as well. It's simple things like planting fruits and vegetables with the little ones that make me appreciate the time I have with them more. It's priceless. They don't stay like that forever, you know, but the memories I make with them will outlive me."

Strangely, the statement stuck with her, made Hermione revisit her argument with Pansy and her discussion with Harry about Narcissa. She thought about what she knew, what she didn't, and what she had learned along the way.

Time was something that Narcissa Malfoy needed and was poised to pay any price for, but she would never be able to purchase enough, no matter the sum. It must have been incredibly difficult for her to swallow her pride and ask for Hermione's help when that was something she had given Molly for free.

"What's troubling you, love?"

Hermione forced a smile and almost diverted to another topic, almost made excuses for whatever clues she had careless dropped, but she couldn't. It was a real possibility that the topic would be one that kept coming up, especially with Pansy's vehement opposition to her refusal to accept Narcissa as a patient. She needed someone objective. Someone without a card to play in the matter.

"I had a consultation with a patient." Hermione carefully considered her words. "She has a disease that we can possibly slow the progression of with long-term aggressive care, but I declined the case."

"Oh, dear, why?"

"Theo suggested her, knowing that she was against my rules."

"I'm sure he had his reasons."

"He did." Hermione sighed, still mulling over that bit. There was one thing about the situation that didn't make sense: Theo's role. His game. The reason for his involvement. She simply couldn't accept the fact that she was the mother of someone Theo considered part of his family. "I don't know what his motivations are, but she requested the best Healer and he thinks I'm it."

Molly smiled proudly. "From what I've heard of your work, and seen of it myself, I'd have to agree. I was supposed to take a lot longer to heal from the poison, but you had me back home in a week with your quality care."

Lowering her head in quiet modesty, Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and acknowledged her words with a nod. "Her disease is not so uncommon in Muggles, but it _is_ rare in wizards—and aggressive. So aggressive, in fact, that not much is known about it. I can't even guarantee that I'll be able to provide the care she needs or the time she wants… it's outside my purview."

"I'm confident that you'll read and research to figure out if you _can_ give her the proper care."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, face twisted in confusion. "You make it sound like I'm going to take the case."

"Aren't you?" Molly met her with a challenging look. "If it were me or Arthur or anyone you care about, would you do it?"

"I wouldn't hesitate."

"Well, that's against your rules. Why is this person any different?"

Hermione chuckled, thinking back on the way she and Narcissa had glared at each other in her office last week. The differences between them were more than a matter of social class and individual temperament. It went down to their core values and blood.

"Plenty of reasons. If the circumstances were reversed, she wouldn't spare me a second thought—"

"I've _never_ seen you turn down someone in need. Not even when you don't like them or vice versa. I've seen you accept patients that don't respect you until after they've been in your care. It's never mattered to you. They are your patient and you remain objective no matter what. You treat them no matter what." In response to Molly's argument, she had no words. "I can't tell you what to do, love. In the end, it's your decision and I'll support whatever you decide. But give it some thought."

She pondered for several moments that seemed eternal, but in the end, she nodded. "I will."

"Good." Molly smiled and returned to their previous conversation. "Now, when is Neville coming?"

"Saturday morning. Harry's taking Lily for a daughter date, so Ginny will come over with the boys to help clear the spot in the vegetable patch. All the seedlings are ready, Neville brought over pots for the aubergines, celery, and broccoli. I let them each pick a fruit or vegetable they want to plant in the greenhouse. Any preferences?"

"Cucumbers, definitely. Last year's were so crisp and lovely." Hermione nodded; she already had some ready to be planted. "What did the kids pick?"

"Al wants watermelon, which is a tall order, so we'll see. James wants grapes, but I'd definitely have to grow them in the greenhouse with the fruit trees. Lily will eat anything off a bush. I've pruned the blueberry bush and it's looking to be a great year for them. She'll like that. Ginny agrees with James about grapes so I can make wine." They both fondly rolled their eyes. "Regardless, it will be fun."

"And what do _you_ want?"

Hermione shrugged with a soft smile. "A healthy vegetable patch."

"You've got to want more than that, love."

She shook her head. "Healthy crops will suffice."

"If you say so." Molly was quiet for a moment and Hermione thought the older witch would make another go at trying to make her confess to wanting more, but then she asked, "Did Ron make any suggestions?"

Ah. There it was. Hermione's only problem—and a similar complaint she had with her own mother—was the fact that Molly was still determined for her to become her daughter.

In one way or another.

"He's invited himself to help this weekend."

Molly couldn't hide her elation. "Such a good man, my son is. Always willing to help those he cares about." She gave her a meaningful look that Hermione ignored by drinking her tea. "He's even upstairs right now taking care of the ghoul who woke up Arthur and I this morning by banging on the pipes. He should be down soon."

Almost on cue, her youngest son strolled into the kitchen, sweeping his hair from his face. He was dressed in dark jeans, trainers, and the Arsenal jersey her dad had given him ages ago for Christmas. "I've finished—" He noticed Hermione just as she finished the last of her tea. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

She placed the teacup on the table, but Molly answered before she could speak. "She brought over eggs and vegetables. Be sure to bring her a gift for good luck when we plant this weekend." Hermione's eyes narrowed at the pointed look she gave her son. She had _never_ heard of such a tradition. Molly slowly rose to her feet, lovingly patting her on the shoulder. "You two chat, I'll put up the vegetables."

Hermione went to get up. "I can—"

Mrs Weasley shooed her and picked up the wicker basket. "No, no. I can handle this. I'll be back soon."

Ron watched his mother leave the room, but before he could take her seat, Hermione stood up, ready to leave. She could always come back later for her basket. Unfortunately, the action put her directly in front of Ron, who wore a look of determination she was all too familiar with.

"What are you doing the rest of the day?" The question tumbled out in a rush. At the impatient sigh she involuntarily gave off, he cringed a little and ran a nervous hand through his unruly hair. "It's been a while since we've hung out. Just the two of us."

That was intentional.

The last time they'd been alone together, Hermione had made a few regrettable decisions out of a bizarre culmination of weakness, loneliness, and a habit of doing stupid things to avoid the bigger issue. She learned old habits died harder than she cared to admit.

She really _had_ known better.

Falling into bed with Ron was as problematic as it was destructive. Sex wasn't the issue. Ron was _good_. When he was passionate about something, he put everything into it. And he was enthusiastic about her. It just wasn't… _enough_. It wasn't right. And the problem had more to do with the fact that she didn't want _him_ , but rather _something_ she couldn't identify. _More?_

Harry had been more right than she would ever admit to him.

But none of that had mattered because he'd seized the opening she'd left for him. What she was missing didn't matter. Not when Ron was right there, kissing her tirelessly, caressing her gently. He did every little thing she wanted, all the _ways_ she wanted, not out of instinct, but because she'd already _told_ him what to do to make her happy. Told him just how she liked it. And while she tried to focus on the act itself, focus on him, she couldn't blot out the truth that she was wasting her time trying to fill a hole with nothing but air.

She was searching for something she couldn't identify in a place she _already_ knew it wasn't.

A place it would never be.

That had been over two years ago. After, she'd told him it could never happen again and she'd maintained her distance when he hadn't believed her. She'd created better boundaries. Organised, categorised, and numbered her rules for why she couldn't do that again, reinforced her walls every time he tried to breach them.

And more importantly, Hermione had successfully suppressed that little feeling of _something_ she hadn't been able to identify. It was irrelevant anyway. She had what she needed in her work and friends. Her life was great. She was healthy and content again, and all that feeling had done was make her chase the wind and make poor life choices.

But while Hermione, who was satisfied with her decision to box it all up, moved forward, Ron very much wanted to go back. That was why he stood there, unwavering, like personal space meant nothing between them.

"I'm picking colours with Pansy today for my bathroom." Hermione carefully sidestepped him. "You're welcome to come with us."

Ron blanched and shook his head as if he'd eaten something foul. "I still don't understand why you're friends with her. She tried to—"

"My friendship with her is my own business, but if you must know, we've made our peace with the past. I signed a treaty. _Literally_. It's done. I've let it go and so has Harry. If he can move on, how is it your right to cling to the past? They'll never be best mates, but they're at least civil with each other…" She thought about the one time Harry and Pansy had yelled at each other for a solid hour on a topic she couldn't recall while she and Ginny watched with amusement and shared taffy. "Well, for the most part." She waved a hand flippantly at the last bit. "Why can't you?"

"I really don't want to talk about _her_. I just want to spend some time with you."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, eyebrow raised when she noted the intimate tone his voice had taken. "Respect my choice."

"I do. I just think you're wrong."

"You didn't think that when we broke up. In fact, you looked relieved, if I'm remembering it correctly." And she knew she was.

Ron couldn't deny the truth, but that didn't mean he wouldn't argue his point.

"Okay, but you were working _all_ hours of the day and night, Hermione, I barely _saw_ you. I wanted you home with me, and when you were, you hardly ever let me touch you because you would complain when I asked you to do anything. You were stressed out all the time and you pushed me away once I quit the Auror department. You were always going to work functions, and I didn't mind going with you, but we never spent any time together because someone was always _there_ to pull you away. When I complained about it, you were dismissive. Of _course_ , I wanted to end it. You were miserable, and so was I."

He wasn't wrong.

Hermione could admit her own faults, and she had on several occasions, both to him and her therapist. She wasn't perfect, but her imperfections were only a part of their issues. There was an entire other side of their problems that he wouldn't point out because it wasn't like Ron to highlight his own flaws in their failed relationship.

"I have several edits to make to your arguments. First edit: I didn't complain when you asked me to do _something_. You asked me to do _everything_. I cooked and cleaned after working all day, and you sat there like it was an _expectation_. I'm not your bloody _mother_. Second edit—"

"I'm not trying to argue with you, Hermione."

He had the gall to sound tired.

"You don't want to argue?" She was already mobilising her fleet of responses and her artillery unit for one, ready to pick anything and everything out of the sky with precision and accuracy. "That's interesting when you—"

" _No_." Ron gave a frustrated huff, running a hand over his face. "Okay, maybe I said that wrong. I'm _trying_ to point out that we're different now. When you had your seizure and you quit your job… things changed. Then you went into Healing and things got better. _You're_ better now. I've figured out what I wanted to do, and you're—the timing is right. We're older. More mature. We can do this."

She peered up at him with her mouth in a tight line.

"You don't love me, Ron. Not really."

He looked offended. "That's _not_ true."

"It is. You say that we can do this. That we're older. That things are better. But not _once_ did you say that you still love me." At that, his blue eyes widened slightly and his cheeks reddened. "It's okay that you don't, Ron. Stop forcing yourself to settle for me when I'm not what you truly want."

"Just because I didn't say it, doesn't mean I don't feel it."

"You're circling around again because you think things will be easier now, but they won't. You think what happened _changed_ _me_? That was six years ago, Ron, and it only changed my career trajectory. It didn't drastically alter who I am."

Their personalities didn't work together. She didn't need any more data to prove her point. They had _years_ of evidence that supported her theory of incompatibility.

Exhaling her frustration, Hermione rubbed her temple with two fingers then ran that hand over her face and took another deep breath. "I want my best friend back. I want to just leave us in the past where we belong."

Ron, as usual, stuck to his beliefs. It was typically an admirable quality, but just now it was bothersome. "You like action more than words." He stepped closer to her. "So, let me prove it to you."

What he didn't understand was that she didn't _have_ to do anything. It wasn't her obligation to give him the opportunity to resurrect their dead relationship simply because it was something _he_ wanted. Something _everyone_ wanted. Expected, even. But it didn't work like that. Hermione didn't owe any of them a thing.

"I'm leaving now. I'll see you this weekend for planting, if you decide to come." She turned and walked in the direction of the kitchen where Molly stood at the sink pretending to wash vegetables when she'd only just heard the water cut on.

Molly had heard everything.

"I'm leaving, I'll see you Saturday."

"Okay, love." Molly gave a faint smile, hesitated for a moment then added, "You know, I love you both. I've always thought you two would work things out in your own time, but give him some thought." At the affronted look blossoming on Hermione's face, Molly held up her scarred hand. "And _if_ you _truly_ don't love him anymore, don't give him a chance to show you his affections. Let him go so he can move on."

But what she didn't understand was that her advice was too late.

Hermione already had.  
  


* * *

_**  
March 29, 2011** _

When Hermione resolved to do something and committed herself to an idea, she was like a Seeker with a Snitch in sight. She'd told Molly she would think about it, and the promise had led her to do just that at sunrise when she took her tea and disappeared into her office with Narcissa's file to review and reflect.

Both of which turned into a deep dive off a cliff that sent her to a lot of unexpected places.

Like her parents' home at eight in the morning.

Her mother had been out shopping and her dad was just getting up when he opened the door for her—a late riser since retirement. When she asked to use the computer they barely ever touched despite her mum's insistence that they _had_ to have one, he pointed in the direction of the living room and left her to it. For two hours, she scoured the internet for research and printed articles on the Muggle counterpart to Narcissa's condition: Lewy body dementia.

The idea was to learn more about its history, the protein build-up responsible, the steps in diagnosis, and the progression. Hermione absorbed every detail she could, chronicling and organising and making small notes to herself on a scrap of paper that turned into a notebook when her dad took pity on the overcrowded paper covered in notes and lines that had either been underlined or marked through.

He then pulled up a chair next to her and she tried to pick his brain. "How much do you know about dementia?"

"I'm a retired dentist." He shrugged. "I probably know about as much as the average person who has no experience with it." He eyed the stack of papers next to the printer. "But what I _do_ know is if you print everything out, we'll likely need more paper. At least the cartridge is new. Your mother insisted on having a printer, but hardly uses it." He shook his head.

They both did because that was typical.

Hermione bit on her nail thoughtfully. "Can you get more paper, please? It's about a case I promised to have a second look at."

"Oh?" It was rare for him to show interest in her work. "I didn't think wizards got dementia."

"It's not common, but it happens. There's something in the magical core that makes it progress quicker." The one time having magic wasn't beneficial. Her father looked confused as he adjusted the sleeve of his maroon jumper. "Magic can't protect us from everything. In the end, we're all human and subject to the same decay. This way is just more rapid."

"True, but why research the disease if it's not exactly the same?"

"Because it's the closest one there is, and since it's rare in wizards, there's little research out there. The Americans seem to have more cases, but still no cure. There are other books, but getting a working knowledge of something similar may be effective in the long run. This form of dementia in wizards: the symptoms and nature of the diseases are almost identical. It's only the speed of the progression that differs."

Her dad was quiet long enough for Hermione to return to scrolling.

"You remind me so much of your mum right now. What do you need?"

When she froze and looked, she found her dad's smile was modest yet indulgent. The exchange had been harmonious and fluid in a way she had sorely missed. It felt… _nice._

They may have had the same eyes and nose and chin all along, but for the first time in a while, she didn't feel like a familiar stranger. No. She actually felt like _his daughter_.

"I'll need paper." Her voice was quiet even though her heart was thundering in her chest.

"One or two?"

Caught up in the rush of emotions, Hermione barely heard him. "Hmm?"

"Paper packs. One or two?"

She cleared her throat. "Best make it two."

With a nod, he left her alone.

It took a minute, but Hermione refocused on her task, burying herself in research as she moved from one article to the next, frowning at what she found. The disease was relentless, even in Muggles, and receiving a conclusive diagnosis appeared to take just as long. Pansy had mentioned that Narcissa had been seeing Healers for a year before her diagnosis, which begged the question: how long had she been experiencing symptoms?

There were seven stages to dementia, but most patients weren't diagnosed until the _fourth_.

Hermione was steadily making notes on the third page in her notebook when a voice interrupted her concentration.

"You should eat."

It was her dad again, and he was wearing a black jacket, his hair clearly tousled by the wind. He also looked slightly… wet? Was it raining? Had he already gone out? One look at the two packs of perfectly dry printer paper under his arm answered her question. In the other was takeaway.

"That was fast," Hermione said in wide-eyed bewilderment. "I don't remember hearing you leave."

Her dad chuckled with a quick shake of his frizzy head. "I've been gone an hour. Here." He shrugged a little and sat the bag in front of her. It looked like a salad. "It's probably not as organic as you eat from your garden, but…" He awkwardly cleared his throat. "I thought maybe you hadn't eaten?"

"Thanks dad. It's perfect." Outside of whiskey-induced moments while painting, he had never been too expressive. Hermione watched as he loaded the printer with more paper, noting the second container on a nearby table. "If you want, we can eat together."

She was barely able to keep the note of hope out of her voice.

He declined. "No, go ahead. You're researching. I'm going to listen to the Arsenal commentary on the radio."

Because she wasn't ready to sever the tenuous connection between them, Hermione ran her fingers through her hair. Then began the careful task of untangling her fingers because she hadn't bothered to brush it that morning after her shower. "So, um… when's the next game? Or is the season over? I'm not certain."

If this was a way in, she would learn if she had to.

Her father looked genuinely surprised by the question. "Um. Not over yet. The next game is on the second against Blackburn Rovers. Doesn't look good, but we'll see. It's not been all bad this season." He glanced at her screen. "I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything else."

Hermione watched until he was out of sight.

Maybe it was nothing, but it felt like _something_.

The salad wasn't very good, but the sentiment behind it was enough for Hermione to eat every bite while she kept working. Another hour passed before she joined her dad on the sofa. Donning a pair of reading glasses, he skimmed the paper with the sports commentary playing in the background. When he looked over the rim, he noticed her sitting there patiently waiting.

He ruffled the paper. "What is it?"

"Do you have a library card?"

They ended up at the library, her mystified father looking around; he likely hadn't set foot in there since Hermione was a child. But he followed behind her as she found the right section and started pulling books off the shelf.

A natural step in her pursuit of knowledge.

"I think there's a limit." He laughed when she struggled to balance four volumes in her arms while picking up a fifth. He had three in his arms already and looked woefully out of his depth. "I'm quite certain there is."

And so there was. Hermione used her dad's card and checked out the maximum number, leaving three on the counter with a heavy sigh. They made another quick stop where she bought him a new set of paintbrushes in thanks. She left from her parents' house with hundreds of printed pages and a stack of books that were due back in two weeks.

She made a note to drop them off herself.

It was enough to keep Hermione busy for the rest of the day, but as soon as she returned home, her attention returned to Narcissa's file… and the Healers she had seen prior to her diagnosis. They had to have files on her, too. Files that probably had pertinent information. She would need those.

Again, just to give Narcissa's case a thorough, _fair_ examination.

Then the Floo calls started.

The first three Healers didn't answer. Hermione was just about to give up after drafting owls to send later from the owlery in Godric's Hollow when she realised that, while it was just evening there, it was only around lunchtime where the final Healer was based in Boston.

Charles Smith was a graduate of Ilvermorny, a leading Healer in the field of magical neurological conditions. With twenty years of experience with both the Muggle and magical variety of this disease, he was her best hope for answers.

He was also probably eating lunch, but persistence was her middle name so she tried her luck again and was rewarded when the Floo finally connected. A voice made the flames dance. "This is Charles Smith."

Hermione all but scrambled to sit in front of the fireplace, her notebook ready. "Hi, sorry for the intrusion and abrupt Floo call."

"It's no problem. I was just finishing up a consult. Your timing is impeccable."

Good to know.

Now down to business.

"Perfect. My name is Hermione Granger and I'm a Healer. I was calling because you diagnosed a patient with dementia a few months ago. I'm reviewing their file after a consultation and have a few questions."

More like several, but she didn't want to scare him. There was a long enough silence for her to wonder if the transatlantic connection had failed, but then she heard a clear American accent ask, "And the name of the patient?"

"Narcissa Malfoy."

Another pause.

"Ah, _her_." That didn't bode well, but considering the person, it made perfect sense. "She's quite difficult." That went without saying. "She subjected herself to my testing methods, which are unconventional at best and involve a battery of non-magical tests that generally make most wizardfolk uncomfortable. I think she just wanted answers. However, when I offered to take her on as a patient and work with her Palliative Care Healers, I explained what my care would entail and she said she didn't agree with my methodology and would find her own Healer."

Well, _that_ was surprising.

"Oh?" Hermione scratched out more notes. "What didn't she agree with?"

"She didn't say anything until I mentioned that I work with a No-Mag Specialist, who would start her on medication and arrange for Specialists in London to begin working with her."

Hermione put her notebook down. _Intriguing_. "Why a Specialist?"

"I've noticed that a combination of magical and non-magical treatment is best to lengthen the time between the phases. When I mentioned my partner and what his care involved, she declined and left my office."

"Did she say why?" Hermione popped her knuckles. Her hands were tired from their hard work.

"No." Words like _prejudice_ and _bigotry_ came to mind, but Hermione didn't want to judge and sentence Narcissa for a crime she didn't know if she'd _actually_ committed. "I was quite shocked, but she did have an old-school distrust of people without magic that's understandable for patients her age and from her culture. My partner's father is a Squib. His sister is a witch, but he was born without magic. He's familiar with wizarding customs, and I tried to explain this to her, but she refused to have anything to do with him or his methodology. And that was that."

Hermione nodded with understanding, then stopped as she realised she was on a Floo call and shook her head, embarrassed. The flames danced on. "Are there any Healers in my area that have experience with her disease?"

"I don't know of any. But dementia in wizards is beginning to rise there. Narcissa was my third patient from overseas that month. The other two started in my care and are doing as well as can be expected."

That was good to hear.

The wizard chuckled to himself, making the flames flare slightly. "It's funny you're calling, the owner of St Mungo's reached out to me and asked me the same questions." She perked up again; she liked the fact that Charles was chatty. "I advised him to pick someone who has a background in slowing down illnesses to treat her. Someone with tough skin, willing to learn a lot very quickly, and able to treat the situation with a dynamic approach and the delicacy it requires. It's not a matter of specialty. It's a matter of patience and understanding."

Well, that explained a lot.

"Is there a way to incorporate Muggle methods into treating her without a Specialist?"

"While there is no cure, nor any potions or medications aimed specifically at treating the disease, we focus our treatment on alleviating symptoms. The Muggle Specialist tends to handle the medication aspect of treatment. They focus on therapies, such as physical and speech. Lifestyle changes could be key, too. The same healthy lifestyle changes that are used to prevent dementia in Muggles can also be useful in slowing the advancement of symptoms in witches and wizards."

"Such as?"

“Regular exercise, sleep, mitigating stress, mental stimulation, and keeping up social engagements. She has a healthy social life, from what I remember, so I would monitor this to make certain she is not wearing herself out. Also a brain healthy diet. The Healer who cares for her would need to tackle her motor control deterioration and the depression that will likely become an issue as she progresses. Lastly, making sure her family is on board and connected is key, but as a Healer, you know this. In her case, her family needs a plan to ensure her safety as her memories and body deteriorate. From what I understand, she is responsible for her grandson in some capacity.”

That was true.

“Remember, she still has magic and accidents can happen. Accidental bursts of magic are common during the later stages, but Apparition during a moment of confusion is highly dangerous. Splinching is common and can be fatal.”

Duly noted.

Hermione underlined that note twice. “I’m assuming the magical aspect of treatment involves potions."

“Yes, but it’s tricky. I’ve read she’s on a five-potion regimen, but I’m not certain if it’s working.” Judging from what Hermione had seen during their brief meeting, it almost certainly was not. “I personally use a nine-potion system for my patients. The more specifically targeted the composition of the potion is as it pertains to her metabolic response, the better and more consistently it’ll work.” 

And then he listed all nine without her having to ask. 

Hermione scribbled down each.

“We’re working to develop a potion to encompass them all into one, one that perhaps will marginally slow the progression of the disease, but we’re still sorting the composition and the bureaucracy.”

She shook her head, knowing a little about how politicians dipped their toes in things they had no business in. "Good luck with that and thank you. If needed, would you be available for future consults?"

For other patients, of course. _Not_ Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione had always been committed to the continued sharing of knowledge. A lifelong student. And Charles seemed like a good ally to have.

"I have a magi-scheduler, just schedule something when I'm free. You can add me. My middle name is Alexander. There are more Charles Smiths than I can account for."

"I'm probably the only Hermione Granger, so I'll be easy to add." They both chuckled and she looked at the time, noticing that almost fifteen minutes had passed. "Thank you. I have a lot to review. Apologies again for disrupting you."

"None needed. Good luck treating Mrs Malfoy."

"Oh, I'm not treating her. I'm just doing a bit of research."

Before ending the Floo call, she swore she heard a very confused _"Wait, what?"_ from the other end.

Hermione got up, stretched, and went to pour herself more tea. Black tea with a splash of milk. She was beginning the process of sorting through her findings when she thought about one last call she needed to make: a Floo call to Mrs Malfoy's Primary Healer who had prescribed the current regimen of potions Narcissa was taking.

"Kendrick." The wizard who answered sounded extremely put out.

"Hello, my name is Hermione Granger—"

"Oh!" With some degree of annoyance, she heard him sputter and noted his abrupt change in tone. "Healer Granger, how can I be of assistance?"

"Apologies for the late call—"

"No, not at all. It's not every day one receives a call from _the_ Hermione Granger. It's an honour."

Hermione opened her mouth, but remembered she was looking for information, which was going to be an easier mission now that he wanted to impress her. "Thank you. I was reaching out to discuss a patient of yours. Narcissa Malfoy. She was referred to me after being diagnosed with—"

"Ah, yes. Nasty bit of business."

"Truly unfortunate." Hermione paused. "How much do you know about her condition?"

He obviously hadn't expected her call or line of questioning, so she waited patiently while he found her chart—a chart Hermione requested a copy of. For review, of course. "Admittedly, I don't know much about her condition. I'm more of a General Healer. I prescribed her potions based on what I felt would work best. The Healer who diagnosed her prescribed nine potions, which I thought to be excessive."

"How did you pick the five?"

"Her disease is incurable. When she sought my care, she was taking seven of the nine that had been prescribed. I picked the five with the most benefits and the least amount of side effects so that she could continue on as normal for as long as possible. It was her request."

"And you let patients decide their own treatment?" There was silence and Hermione realised just how snippy her question had sounded. Before he could respond, she cleared her throat. "Does she have a personal Potions Master creating these potions specially for her?"

"No…" Kendrick sounded like he was trying to figure out how he should feel. "She acquires them from the Apothecary herself."

"Did you consider her body chemistry when picking the potions?"

"No."

That was to be expected from someone with only a passing amount of knowledge on the topic.

No matter.

The more questions Hermione asked, the more she appeared to irritate him. She didn't know why. Knowing the quantity and quality of ingredients in each prescribed potion was a vital aspect of the art of Healing. When she reminded him of this—well, apparently the firecall disconnected.

What a pity.

But she could find out for herself.

 _Even without magic, dementia is a strange mind game,_ Hermione thought as she scoured all the research she had gathered that day. She realised, as she re-read the book she had taken from Theo's office on magic's effect on neurological diseases, that it seemed like magic itself fuelled the disease, making it _more_ unpredictable and aggressive. Full of uncertainty—which Hermione didn't like. She could keep every variable the same, do everything right, and Narcissa could _still_ die in three years. Or she could live six. Ten? Well… _that_ was unheard of, according to the book.

The point was that there were no guarantees, no way to control the outcome or timing of… well, _anything_. And that didn't make her comfortable.

But she had to remember that Narcissa wasn't asking for a cure—she was asking for time. It wasn't something she couldn't guarantee or even promise. All she could do was try. But would that be good enough?

 _Well,_ Hermione frowned at the thought— _if_ she were accepting her as a patient.

Which she was not.

Too full of nervous energy to sit, Hermione drifted around her office, reading and organising her printed research into three piles—relevant, irrelevant, and unknown. She was more than a quarter of the way through when she realised that the sun was no longer in the sky.

"Hmm."

Then she noticed the haphazard state of the rest of her office.

"Well."

Someone knocked on her door three times. Only Pansy. She hadn't even felt the wards tingle in response to her arrival. _Interesting._ Hermione had half a mind to clear away the papers, but it was too late.

Pansy threw open the door. "Granger, you've been in here for—" The witch took one look at the state of her office and gaped. "Are you _cracked_?"

"I'm doing a bit of research." Hermione sighed as Pansy gesticulated wildly around her office. "Okay, _a lot_ of research. This is your fault, mind you."

Her voice went up an entire octave. "What the—"

"Ugh!" Before the witch started shrilling, she cut her off. _"You're_ the one who wanted me to consider Narcissa!"

"Yes, I did, but—" Pansy narrowed her eyes. "How long have you been in here?"

"It was daylight when I last looked up."

"Have you eaten?"

"My dad bought me a salad?"

Pansy looked murderous, which was normal. "You went to your parents'?"

"And the library." She gestured to the books under her 'keep' pile. "I made a few Floo calls, too. One to the American Healer who diagnosed Narcissa."

Her friend's patience was clearly wearing incredibly thin. "Okay, let me rephrase this. _When_ was the last time you ate something?"

Folding her arms defiantly, she repeated herself, "I had a salad."

"Fucking hell. I'm calling Weasley!" Pansy turned on her heel and left.

Hermione swore violently, nearly tripping over a pile of papers while she tried to catch up. She called after Pansy but the witch only covered her ears and made some squawking noise that Luna would have been proud of as she marched on to the living room Floo.

The last person on Earth Hermione wanted summoned to talk about her eating habits was Ginny Potter. She had three kids and there would be hell to pay if she had to show up to take care of her. Not to mention the disappointed looks she'd mastered since becoming a parent. The last time Ginny had _worried_ _about her_ , there had been many memorable threats about calling her therapist

And _worse_ , her _mother_.

No thanks.

There was only one option, one move that she could use. Her best move. She knew better than to bargain with a Slytherin, but desperate times called for desperate measure. "Dinner! Anywhere you want!"

Everything—both Pansy and her obnoxious noises—stopped.

She whirled around. Her voice was as smooth as the smirk on her face. "I believe we have a deal."  
  


* * *

_**  
March 30, 2011** _

  
Roger Davies was a brilliant Healer.

His older brother had landed in the Janus Thickey ward after he'd tried to Obliviate himself on the one year anniversary of the day that his Muggle-born wife had been killed by Snatchers. Because of his brother, and everything his family had endured in the aftermath, maintaining quality mental health was Roger's personal mission.

After all, his brother hadn't been alone in his struggles after the war.

There were _countless_ cases of traumatized Aurors having flashbacks during mission and training exercises. Potions and substance abuse statistics were high as well, and the sharp increase of instances concerning incorrectly applied memory charms resulted in a surplus of patients in the Janus Thickey ward.

On a random Tuesday in October, after endless petitions on his part, the Wizengamot had allowed Roger to present his proposal for funding to create an Alternative Health department at St Mungo's. The department would research and treat patients whose ailments were primarily mental and didn't fit in any other department. Fresh out of her make-up year at Hogwarts and working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione hadn't had time to attend the hearing, but she had heard that, while the talk was certainly illuminating, his proposal had been rejected almost unanimously.

The Minister had been the only approval, but his word was no longer the only law.

Roger's failure was worth mentioning because of what happened next.

Roughly six months after the rejection, Parvati Patil had published an article in The Daily Prophet about her difficulties with survivor's guilt following the death of her best friend. She'd talked about how she wished the Ministry would help those who were still struggling—not with the financial assistance that had helped their economy recover, but _actual_ help. Someone who could help them navigate the new normal, in _their_ community. Someone who knew about their struggles that they could talk to.

A companion piece, published the following day, had photos provided by Dennis Creevey, who'd paid tribute to his fallen brother by using Collin's camera to tell the story of his family's struggles adjusting to life without him.

Together, the two articles had resonated so strongly with _everyone_ who had lost someone during the war that the public actually started _talking_ about their problems, rather than burying them.

In fact, the response had been so powerful that when Roger returned, the Wizengamot was forced to approve his proposal or risk the wrath of already waning public opinion. But in Roger's eyes, the journey didn't matter, only that he'd won the race.

His research on PTSD's effect on magic had ended up being ground-breaking, with articles published in papers all over the wizarding world. Precedents had been set. Mental health was no longer a taboo, but a topic people sought help for.

Even before Hermione's abrupt change in careers, she'd read each and every one of his papers on the effects of trauma and stress on magic as she tried to sort through her own issues. It should have prepared her for what happened to her, but hindsight was always perfect, as the saying went.

Regardless, Hermione held the wizard in high regard, and respected him as a fellow Healer and innovator. But there was just one thing.

Well, _actually_ , there was _more_ than one, but first things first:

She could never trust _anyone_ with a spotless office.

Hermione considered herself a tidy person, but she preferred a certain method to all the madness in her world. She preferred _just_ enough clutter in life to make things interesting without coming across as—well, _cluttered_. Besides, with all the research that went along with their work, there was always bound to be _something_ lying about.

Both Roger _and_ his office looked like they were being featured in Witch Weekly. And with his popularity, for all she knew, that very well could have been true. For just a breath, Hermione—who wore coveralls that had seen better days, a white shirt, and trainers with anti-slip charms—felt underdressed. But then she remembered the purpose of her visit.

And she wasn't there to impress anyone.

Hermione knocked on his open door twice, trying not to look _too_ judgemental when he lifted his head from his work and waved her into his pristine office with a genial smile on his face.

Roger was handsome in a clinical sense. With his short brown hair that was neatly combed, brown eyes, and medium build, he gave all appearances of the successful person he was.

"Punctual as always. Please, come in."

After doing just that, she shut the door behind her. "Afternoon, Roger." When she slid into the chair in front of his desk, Hermione peeked at the file on his. Not a patient's file, but _research_. His latest project involved experimental treatment for the extremely traumatised patients that resided full-time in their ward.

From what Padma had told her, the trials weren't going well.

"How are you?" Roger greeted her with a friendly smile that she returned. Even though their individual war stories had made them both famous, they were little more than colleagues with a healthy mutual respect for each other's work. "I was quite surprised when your name appeared on my calendar for a meeting. I thought you were between patients."

Everyone was well aware that when that occurred, she barely made an appearance at the hospital.

For anything except meetings with Theo.

In lieu of a proper response to his greeting, where she would be forced to make small talk on topics she didn't care about, Hermione bypassed his question and comment. "I was wondering if you've started working on Narcissa Malfoy's case."

"I have not." Roger offered her his full attention by leaning forward and resting his elbows on his oak desk. "I did, however, review her contract. We're scheduled to meet to discuss my terms tomorrow."

"Without looking at her case?" Hermione kept her tone even. Unbothered.

Roger had never been modest—always bordering on conceited—but it wasn't his job to downplay his talent and successes. Healers, as a whole, were an arrogant bunch, so it had never mattered much to her. How could patients trust a Healer if they weren't confident in their abilities?

"I _have_ reviewed her file, but I also have four other priority cases ahead of hers. If I'm being honest, I only accepted Mrs Malfoy because of your reference and, well, curiosity. I've never seen a case like hers. I'm interested in the possibility of running tests to determine if her condition is genetic or environmental."

Tests were all well and good, but Narcissa's disease was in the early stages. The quicker they attacked it, the better chance they had to slow its progress—at least, that was what her research had suggested.

Which led to something else that bothered her about him: at heart, Roger was a researcher.

He was meticulous, with an eye for detail, and knew how to back up an argument. Hermione was like-minded and had found it easy to work with him when she'd first joined the department almost six years ago.

Where they differed _vastly,_ however, was their bedside manner.

Roger looked at his patients, not as individuals, but predominantly in terms of how they might usefully contribute to his future research. Of course, he would work tirelessly while the patient was in his care, and had a record of successes to back up his method, but at the end of it all, they were walking, talking, and _breathing_ case studies. Roger tended to work with only high-profile cases, people who'd experienced extreme trauma, or those who had severe psychoses and were too dangerous to be in public.

His work, as of late, had been developing an elixir used to combat PTSD with several potion makers, but he had a growing interest in cases like Narcissa's—where Muggle disorders were exacerbated by magic.

It had been the reason Hermione had referred the case to him to start with.

"Have you created a treatment plan?"

"An outline of one. I want to run more tests to try and determine the cause."

That was perfectly fine, but… "When do you plan to start treating her?"

Roger stroked his chin for a moment, deep in thought. "A few months of research will do. Then we can begin experimental treatment options."

His words made her want to recoil, but she recovered, suppressing her confused and flabbergasted look. "Aggressive options, right?"

"I'll experiment with some known potions right now—"

She gave a hard exhale, trying to disguise her frustration. "What combination will you use?"

"I haven't thought about it."

 _That_ made what little patience Hermione possessed slip away. She squinted at him. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly _have_ you thought about?" Her tone gave every indication that she was done skirting the issue at hand.

She wanted an answer. Sooner rather than later.

The abrupt question made him falter, then he cocked his head a bit to the side, fixing her with a hard look. Right then, Hermione realised she'd gone too far. "This feels like an interrogation."

"Sorry, that wasn't my intention."

It most certainly _was_ , but she knew when to stand her ground _and_ when a tactful backtrack made the most sense. Right then, the latter was quickly determined to be her best option—one that didn't ruin a perfectly good professional relationship. "I've spent a bit of time researching her condition and wanted to have a meeting of minds, but I didn't know you hadn't started. My apologies." She gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, trying to appear awkward. "You _know_ how I am. Insatiable thirst for knowledge."

She was reaching, but falling back on history always worked with schoolmates like Roger, and she watched the stern look on his face soften. Then he smiled, shaking his head as he chuckled. "I _do_ know how you are. I remember seeing you in the library all the time. I _still_ believe you would have done well in Ravenclaw."

 _Everyone_ believed that, but she'd been sorted into Gryffindor and had no regrets.

"As a Ravenclaw, I probably would have _still_ lost _a lot_ of sleep trying to keep Harry alive."

"But gained us a lot of house points." He flashed her a charming grin.

Hermione gave a nostalgic sigh. "The things I did for Gryffindor tapestry."

Roger laughed harder while she chuckled along for nothing more than the noise it provided in the silence of his office. _Comradery._ Her misstep was forgiven. She wouldn't let her impatience cause another outburst.

 _Now_ , for a different angle.

Roger _loved_ to pick her brain when he got stuck or something didn't work. Hermione only gave little clues to satisfy him. And she never gave them for free.

"When I came in, I saw that you were reviewing your research on the new experimental treatment regimen for extreme cases of emotional trauma."

He didn't bother asking how she'd seen all that so quickly. "Yes, the trials aren't going well."

"I heard." Hermione frowned, briefly lamenting with him. "And I _might_ have a few thoughts about it."

Roger looked intrigued. "Go on."

"I believe your failure was due, in part, to the addition of the Draught of Peace. Long-term use of it causes blunted reactions. Have you considered the Elixir of Tranquillity? It's stronger, but not habit-forming _or_ dangerous if brewed incorrectly. May be worth looking into."

With his face lit up, Hermione knew she had piqued his interest.

"I'll do just that. You truly _are_ brilliant, Hermione. I know you have your patients and interests, but if you ever want to collaborate or even join the research side…" He allowed the suggestion to linger.

"I'll think about it," Hermione lied smoothly, then circled back to the reason she'd scheduled this meeting in the first place. _Narcissa_. "In all honesty, I'll take my appreciation in a favour."

He made a gesture. _Go on._

"Move Narcissa's case up on your list. I only suggest it as her condition hasn't progressed too much. The faster you start, the more you can work with her from diagnosis and beyond, accounting for every factor conceivable along the way."

He looked at her for a moment. Then conceded with a nod. "I can do that."

"If you're interested, I've done a bit of research on Narcissa's case. Just to give you a head start, of course. You're a busy Healer, after all." Flattery never hurt, judging from how quickly he agreed to listen to her. Hermione reached into her bag, pulled out a thick roll of parchment, and sat it on his overly neat desk.

"A bit of research?" Clearly, Roger was amused.

"Just a brief synopsis of all the research I've compiled on both the Muggle and magical versions of her disease."

Because of the summary he was currently skimming, _her_ desk was a mess of books, parchment, paper, and every bit of research that she'd found on Narcissa's condition. After sushi and sake in London, followed by a film Pansy wanted to see, Hermione had returned home the night before and decided to schedule a short appointment with Roger—just for a few follow-up questions.

After all, he _had_ to have done just as much research as she had. Right?

The answer—as she now knew—was no.

Hermione had _doubts_ , and they all started with the state of his office—and the man himself who sat behind the desk with only his nameplate, a glass of water, his research file, and a picture of his family facing toward him. She'd done enough digging to know that the time Narcissa wanted wouldn't be possible if he treated her like an experiment.

No matter what he promised, she _still_ didn't feel right leaving Narcissa in his care.

Her decision, she realised while she watched his eyes scan the parchment, was made.

"If you'll excuse me, Roger. I have to go. Oh, and I'm going to need that back."

Before she could talk herself out of what could potentially be a poor decision, Hermione took her parchment and left with one destination in mind. She didn't stop until she stood outside Theo's door. In an uncharacteristic move, she knocked and didn't wait for someone to open the door before she walked in…

And froze at the sight.

The man himself was sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, his arm thrown over the back. Nothing looked unusual… except for the child sitting next to him, flipping through the children's dictionary while he looked on. There was a softness in Theo's eyes and a fond expression on his face—one she had never seen from him. It was bizarrely warm and intensely attractive, but she didn't have time to sort through that because standing in front of the mantle was her target.

Narcissa.

And she appeared deep in thought, standing stiff in grey robes and touching the gold band on her necklace.

Hermione cleared her throat and three heads snapped to her.

Sheepishly, she rubbed the side of her neck. "My apologies for the intrusion. I was coming to talk to Theo about your case, but since you're here, I'd like to discuss the terms of _your_ contract, Mrs Malfoy." The smallest head in the room tilted to the side in innocent curiosity, eyebrows knitted together as if he were patiently waiting for her to finish her statement.

It was… strangely adult. Even more so because Theo had a similar look on his face.

"Or I could make an appointment if you… need to not speak of these matters around _him_." She awkwardly gestured to the boy wearing black trousers and a black shirt, his platinum blond hair parted severely to the side.

"My grandson is five." Narcissa's face remained impassive. "He does not understand. Scorpius?"

The boy immediately abandoned the dictionary and stood. Obedient, even without instruction.

 _Trained_.

Hermione's frown deepened when she noted a matching expression on Theo's face. Before she could give instructions to her grandson, Theo rose to his feet. "We'll take a walk around the floor while you two speak."

He offered the child his hand, but with a look that reminded Hermione _very_ much of his father, Scorpius lowered his eyes to Theo's hand then back up at the tall wizard who seemed to be imploring him to accept it.

"Your manners." Narcissa's voice was nurturing and lecturing all at once. An odd blend.

Despite his reluctance, Scorpius complied, placing his hand into Theo's much larger one and allowing himself to be led away. Hermione stepped to the side when they approached, her attention so focused on Narcissa that she barely noticed when they left.

When the door shut behind the pair, Narcissa didn't wait. Hermione hadn't expected her to. "I believe you have already refused me. I have a meeting with Healer—"

"Cancel it. I've decided to accept your case."

"Why?" The question she didn't expect was the first one that Narcissa asked.

But Hermione was prepared with an answer. She had several, in fact, but she hadn't known which to provide until the words were already spoken.

"I've got a soft spot for helping those in need."

"I am _no_ charity case, Miss Granger."

"No, you're not." Hermione decided to approach her from a different angle, one that put them both on the common ground they would need going forward. "You once saved us all, and while I can't return the favour, nor do I offer any guarantees, if you let me, I _can_ try to give you what you've requested _._ "

Narcissa stiffened. "And what is that, Miss Granger?"

"A fighting chance."

_We rise by lifting others.  
_ **Robert Ingersoll**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Today marks the kickoff of weekly postings! Yay! *insert cat on a keyboard meme* I kid. I'm currently about 2k into chapter 21 and with a total unedited word count of approx 236k, I can safely say it'll be a journey. Probably 44-46 chapters, give or take. Lots to unbox and unfold. Now that Scorpius has been brought in, I think I have one more main character to introduce and he'll be here in chapter 5. Then the fun begins.
> 
> As for this chapter, I have been dying to write the trio together. I adored writing Harry in this and their sibling relationship. And Molly as something of a second mother to her who asks very pertinent questions. And Ron...and their complicated one.
> 
> Til Friday!


	5. Granger

**  
Five  
** _Granger_

_**April 2, 2011** _

  
The greenhouse itself was not green.

It was a homemade hut made of glass, wood, and metal framing. Crafted with extendable charms, the outside wasn't imposing, quaint enough to blend in the scenery around her vegetable patch. The inside, however, was spacious with room to grow. A pathway led through the rich foliage. Some plants were potted, some were mounted on trellises, and some even hung from the ceiling. But everything was bursting with colour. Organised and spaced out into sections, Hermione had a method to the way she arranged her plants. Fruit trees in the back, certain flowers in the middle, vegetables that wouldn't survive outdoors dotted between, and an ever-expanding selection of individual pots on tables that housed herbs needed to brew her potions.

The empty tables served as a reminder of its status as a work in progress.

But maybe one day it would house every herb imaginable…

Until then, she used what she had to make a difference in her own way.

The sun was out but there was a chill in the air from an easterly wind. High clouds softened the light and prevented any harsh shadows from forming. Inside the greenhouse was warm and lush, like Spring, thanks to natural light and temperature-control charms. Hermione shed her jumper the moment she entered, placing it on a bench next to the door.

Hermione flicked her wrist and water sprouted over her fruit trees while she contemplated adding a dwarf mango to the mix of pears, lemons, figs, and the latest addition, oranges. The kids would like that. After filing it away for further consideration, Hermione moved over to checking the flowers, fruits, and vegetables before turning her attention to the main reason she'd started the greenhouse: the herbs.

Particularly the ones for potions.

Her first stop was the dittany plants, which had been on the brink of death for the last year. That was the main reason for her current attempt to grow another, which stubbornly remained in the windowsill of her office, refusing to sprout. Today, it still looked grim, but resilient. Neville would probably have to take it to his greenhouse for better rehabilitation.

Nettle was next, but she was careful around it, tending to it with impenetrable dragon-hide gloves. Asphodel, leaping toadstools, neem, ipecacuanha, and wormwood all looked good. The aconite plants had their own table and had grown to twenty since Daphne had started collecting them for Hermione over the last three years so she could brew wolfsbane for Padma's patients.

They were thriving, mainly due to Neville's efforts, teachings, and special fertiliser.

Hermione had just finished watering them when the doors parted and Daphne walked in. Right behind her was Neville, who was carrying her latest procurement.

Always a gentleman.

"Arka."

Hermione stopped, fully focused on their approach. When Neville stopped beside her, she reverently touched the leaves of the plant with her gloved hand. It was a wonderful addition that would help create potions to ease the pain from the Cruciatus Curse. It was also an ingredient in several of Narcissa's potions.

She hadn't asked for it, but the timing couldn't be more perfect. "Where did you find it?"

Daphne gave a sly smile. "At George's birthday extravaganza last night, a birdie told me that you have a new patient and arka is an ingredient in a few of their potions." Hermione astutely cut her eyes to Neville—the _only_ person who would have known about her need for certain ingredients because she'd raided his greenhouse before the party. He just whistled innocently before giving her a crooked smile that she returned. Daphne laughed. "The birdie came with me to pick it up. Where are you going to put it?"

She had several empty tables for herbs, as she'd planned ahead for expansion, but before she could direct him, Neville picked out a spot on his own. "We should give it some space to start with." He took it to the last table on the row.

Hermione turned to Daphne. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. That was all good timing. I always let Neville know when I acquire a plant in a deal. Just happened to be your lucky day that the owner died and I was able to negotiate… _Oh!_ " Daphne went into her pocket, pulling out a small bag of dried herbs. "Kava, as requested." Something Hermione had needed as she used a small amount of it in her teas for new patients. It always helped settle their nerves. "I tried to find you the plant itself, but my seller wasn't willing to part with it or provide a clipping. It'll harm the plant, apparently."

Which was fair.

"Thanks." Hermione put the herb along with her wand into the pocket of her apron.

"Blaise will be by with the rest later. He's tied up negotiating a rare painting for a client."

The less she knew the better, judging from the expression on Daphne's face.

Daphne and Blaise had been partners in the business of procurement for longer than Hermione had been gardening. It had started as a pastime for them both, but quickly became a career. Originally, Hermione thought it was an odd choice, but Daphne apparently had a knack for finding things. She'd found the almost extinct ingredients required to make the antidote for Molly, and had done it with time to spare.

Their business wasn't just tracking down herbal rarities, they worked with private collectors of almost anything. From Magizoologists seeking to rescue unusual magical creatures from illegal trade to Ministries all over the world procuring rare, requested items. Daphne generally left the practical work to Blaise and their underlings while she focused on less complex finds and researching what they were looking for—especially since she'd found out she was pregnant.

Neville examined the akra plant and took a sample of the soil before returning to them. "It's extremely healthy. Better than I noticed at first glance." Hermione cast another look over his shoulder at the plant. "We can let it settle for a week or two then re-pot it. It'll need to be in the exact same quality soil so it doesn't ruin the plant."

"How long before I can prepare it myself?"

"A month?"

"I've found what you need in the meantime," Daphne said before the initial tickle of worry could form. After all, she had spent the last two days working on her potions alone and the thought of missing pieces tingled at her anxiety. "Blaise will bring it by with everything else you've ordered."

_Excellent._

First problem handled.

It was decent enough outside—in that it wasn't raining or too windy—so they grabbed blankets and snacks and ventured out into the field behind her house. Hermione quickly transfigured a weed into the ugliest mustard yellow sofa she'd ever seen, but after exchanging shrugs with Daphne, they both lounged on opposite ends under a shared blanket, their shoes nearly touching. Neville, meanwhile, had spread a blanket out on the grass in front of them and laid on his back, with his hands behind his head. Hermione cast a quick warming charm on him.

They stayed like that for nearly an hour, enjoying the strange peace they found out in the field as they passed around the bag of crisps. Ultimately, there was a silent agreement to let Daphne eat the majority of them.

She _was_ eating for two, after all.

"Where's Luna?" Hermione asked. Usually, she came with Neville whenever he came by.

"Clearing Nargles from Harry's house. Apparently, there's another infestation."

"Ah."

"Tell her I said thank you for the gifts for the baby, but I don't think she got the colour right." Daphne chuckled. "Pretty certain I'm having a boy."

They wanted to find out a little closer to her due date, which didn't seem practical to Hermione, who thought things like preparation and names were important. Not that it mattered. Everyone thought they were having a boy anyway. Something about the way she was carrying, but Hermione was no expert.

Luna firmly believed she was carrying a girl. In fact, her belief ran so deep that while they were all coming up with masculine names at Girl's Night last night, she only came up with one.

Halia.

_In remembrance of a loved one._

Definitely more fitting than Cho's dull suggestion of _Paul_ that made Pansy stare at her as if she were an escaped mental patient.

Neville shrugged. "Maybe you _are_ having a girl."

"Of course you'd agree with your girlfriend." Daphne shook the bag of crisps and sighed after realising they were all gone. "You both ate them all."

He lifted his head up, ready to argue the contrary, but Hermione caught his eye and shook her head. Best if he didn't. There had been actual tears when Parvati loudly marvelled at the fact that Daphne had eaten two bags of crisps in one sitting. "Ah, sorry about that. I'll make lunch?"

"I suppose I could eat, but will there be pie?"

"I can make that happen."

Daphne, who hadn't been able to eat much during the first three months of her pregnancy, genuinely looked excited.

Neville chuckled to himself and laid back down. "Oh, I'm going to start Kingsley's bee garden." Hermione perked up at that while Daphne raised a confused eyebrow. "I'm looking into getting the plants right now and I also need to pick from my students who volunteered as soon as they'd heard it was for him."

"Understandable." Daphne shrugged before Hermione could say anything. "If it's for Kingsley, let me know if you need Blaise and I to find anything." When they both looked at her, the witch just shrugged. "What? I like him. If he were the Minister again, I wouldn't oppose."

There was an entire underground movement dedicated to making that happen.

"Well, if there's anything I need, I'll let you know." Neville sat up, crossing his legs at the ankles as he leaned back on his hands, breeze blowing through his hair. Then he turned towards Hermione after a measured silence. "So…your new patient?"

Daphne perked up. "Yeah, what made you change your mind? Pansy said you'd refused her."

"How badly did she talk about me?"

The blonde said nothing, but her look spoke _tomes_.

Hermione winced. "That bad?"

The long look continued until Daphne rolled her eyes. "The phrase 'stubborn bitch' was thrown around a few times, but I think she meant it in a loving way?" Doubtful, but she offered an awkward shrug and smile anyway before it transformed into something more resigned. "Look, she has a great respect for Narcissa that I don't understand, but that may be my bias speaking."

"Your sister and nephew?" Hermione asked automatically.

"Yes. _And_ Draco."

Neville's eyebrows went up even higher than hers. "Malfoy?"

Daphne's sigh sounded exactly like Harry's when he was preparing to launch into a Malfoy-inspired rant. She had one chance to pass a glance at Neville to try and change the trajectory of the conversation, but found the man intrigued instead.

"She treated my sister like a placeholder, just waiting for her to die so she could find someone better to take her place as the next Malfoy Matriarch." The disgust in her voice drew Hermione in rather than repelled her. This was pertinent to learning a little more about the dynamic she was walking into.

So far, it wasn't pretty.

Not a surprise.

"I've already given my word about treating her." Hermione wouldn't change her mind because of their friendship. This was work and Narcissa was a patient in her care.

"And I'd never come between that with my opinions. I may not like her, I may find her slowly dying horribly ironic because of how she treated my sister." She shook her head ruefully. "But for Scorpius not to lose someone else so quickly, I'm willing to put my feelings aside."

Spoken like someone who truly loved him. _Family._

"I can't save her, I'm only slowing the progress. Or trying to. I'm working out the details."

Those details involved putting a lot of pieces together. Potions and ingredients. Taking pages from the treatment methods Narcissa had rejected. Figuring out the family dynamic to determine just how useful—or difficult—Draco Malfoy would be when it came to his mother's care.

When Hermione looked again, she found Daphne's blue eyes fixed on her; full of emotions so vivid and complex that no words existed to describe them. "Whatever happens, for what it's worth, I'm glad it's you."

There was nothing Hermione could say in response.

When she lowered her eyes to the hideous, colourful blanket that kept her warm, Daphne continued her story. "As far as Astoria goes, my grievances run deep. Having Scorpius didn't change her relationship with Narcissa, but it appeased her, I think, gave her someone else to focus on." That didn't sound like a good thing. "Draco was busy and did what he could, and Astoria tried. She handled as much of Scorpius' care for as long as she was able until Narcissa took over with her silly rules, rigorous schedule, training, and expectations. He's _five!_ "

"He's…" Hermione trailed off, frowning.

"You've met Scorpius?"

"Briefly." It wasn't a very memorable interaction. In fact, Hermione hadn't thought about it too much in the hours and days since. However, now that it was coming into focus again, there _had_ been a few things she'd picked up on.

Okay, several.

"And what did you think?"

"He's very well-mannered and obedient. Seems oddly perceptive." Hermione tried to recall the boy from Theo's office. "Oh, and very quiet."

"Everything Narcissa thinks he should be—except one thing: _a child_."

Well, now that she mentioned it… there was one more thing Hermione recalled. "I don't think I heard him utter a word."

"And you won't." Daphne sounded almost brittle. "He doesn't speak."

" _Can't?_ " Neville's question was intended to correct her statement.

"No, _won't_." She emphasised with a sharp movement of her hand. "He's shy around strangers, of course, but he used to talk incessantly around family. About three months before my sister died… it's like he realised what was happening and just shut down. One day he just… _stopped_."

Grief would do that, especially in a child.

Daphne ran a rough hand through her hair, trying to keep herself under control by focusing on the discussion at hand. Having nothing to offer, Hermione pressed the sole of her shoe against Daphne's in silent support, which drew her attention momentarily and she was rewarded with an appreciative look. Pressing a flat hand against her bump, Daphne looked to the nearby forest, to the trees that swayed in the breeze.

"Watching him shut down was distressing to Astoria…" Daphne shook her head. "I promised to keep a close eye on him, but…" Her unkept promise lingered all around them, resting heavy on her shoulders. Hermione watched as she continued weathering the storm of her emotions, each wave of it stronger than the last. More brutal. Daphne tried to tread water, but couldn't. She sank into the depths of honesty. "It's been hard since—" She took a deep breath, voice quieter when she confessed. "He hardly _looks_ at me. It's almost like he _can't_."

"Give him time," Neville suggested. "My parents are still alive and sometimes it's hard to…"

Neville fell silent, staring up at the sky. His lost words left a residue behind that made the air heavy with the weight of sadness, collective pain, and loss. The latter, Hermione knew, came in so many shapes that it was difficult to distinguish one from the other or rank them in order of magnitude.

But at the same time, hope still lingered.

People carried their struggles in hundreds of forms and in different ways, mostly in silence, but it was amazing how some were able to reach out with ease, not only in help, but in solidarity.

And Neville did just that— _had_ been doing just that from time to time since Astoria died, despite them not being very close before. He rested his hand, palms up, on the sofa next to Daphne, and in a show of ever-increasing trust, she accepted his support.

"Give him time," Neville repeated.

"How much?"

"As long as he needs."

Time passed like that.

A second.

Ten minutes.

It all went by in a blur of thoughts and internal musings.

Somewhere in between, Daphne let go of Neville's hand and he went back to watching the clouds in the sky. It probably wasn't the time, but there was a question niggling at her. Hermione bit her fingernail to try and coax the words back, but they came anyway.

"I understand how you would be biased about your sister and nephew but… why Malfoy?" Then Hermione drew the blanket up to her neck, catching the chill in the air despite the warming charms imbued in the fabric. The blonde opposite of her wasn't as cold, likely heated from within based on the fire in her eyes.

"Draco's actions—or inactions— _directly_ affect Scorpius. He's so closed up. Even from Scorpius. I'm not sure he even _knows_ how damaging the emotional distance he keeps is. He doesn't talk to me about his reasons. Or anything, really. Furthermore, Draco is… a product of his upbringing and journey. It's hard for me to look at Narcissa and not blame her for _both_ of them."

* * *

_**  
April 4, 2011** _

Hermione read somewhere that the secret to successful negotiations was finding common ground and acting as an observer rather than the opposition. Reason with them but never issue a threat. The best way to win was to find the information needed, lay out the options, and present the situation with a healthy dose of poise and logic.

It reminded her of all the wizard's chess lessons Ron had given her, lessons she remembered well while weaving in and out of the Ministry's political maze. He never took mercy on her. Each time they played, he would repeat that the key to winning was to always think several moves ahead and only sacrifice pieces she knew she could live without.

There were two problems with that way of thinking:

One - Hermione was absolute _pants_ at chess.

Two - she was far too stubborn to sacrifice _any_ of her pieces.

And _that_ was why she and Narcissa were sitting in a silence that threatened to multiply and envelop them both like a dust storm.

But it didn't scare her one bit.

Hermione was on her third cup of tea while the other witch was just finishing her second, a minty blend that she seemed to enjoy. Under the orders of her son and their boss, her guards were not allowed to take their eyes off their charge at any given time during the appointment. So, they had each taken a corner in her office. One of them was swaying on his feet while the other was admiring the young Abyssinian Shrivelfig in the corner that wasn't quite ready to go into the greenhouse.

She allowed her eyes to drift back to Narcissa as she took another sip.

It hadn't been such a terrible appointment thus far.

They'd both started by signing the original agreement. Hermione had carefully read it over and Percy had given his stamp of approval last night over dinner—as he did with all of her legal documents. Of course, he made suggestions for changes that would maximize the benefits for Hermione, but she hadn't added anything. The salary was already astronomical and she wanted little else except weekends and hols off. The deal had also come with Narcissa's staff of private Palliative Care Healers, and Hermione reminded herself to schedule a meeting with them as soon as possible.

Just to bring them on board with her plan… as soon as she completed her creation of it.

For the first time in her career, Hermione Granger was _improvising_.

According to Charles, there wasn't an established treatment plan directly for Narcissa's dementia, they were treating symptoms rather than the source, which meant she had to be creative, find something effective, and hope for the best. His Specialist seemed to have a plan in place that she could use without the addition of Muggle medicine.

For now, it would have to do…

Until she could convince Narcissa (or maybe even Malfoy) to bring in a Specialist to assist.

Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Once the binding contract had been signed, Hermione had begun work right away, running a battery of tests to establish her baseline. Cognitive and sensory tests were completed, both on with and without the aid of magic. Accompanied by her guards, they took a walk along the banks of the stream in front of her home where Hermione tested her balance, reflexes, and strength through various methods that irritated the older witch, but she hadn't complained too much.

When they were back in her office, Narcissa produced all her potions, giving Hermione everything she needed to prepare her daily regimen, which they would discuss during her first home visit. Their current impasse had been reached when Hermione's requests turned from Narcissa's potions to her calendar and her very, _very_ full schedule.

As it turned out, for someone who hadn't been part of London's society for years, Narcissa Malfoy was a very busy woman.

While blood status was still important to maintaining prestige in proper society, after the war, the upper echelon of the wizarding world's social order had transformed, expanding to include a new group of people: affluent half-bloods and very influential Muggleborns—though the latter were only included as proof of their tolerance.

Their forward-thinking.

A sign of change.

As Hermione had been preparing to move into politics, she had been to _several_ events before her career change, but not so many since. The drop off in invitations hadn't offended her, since she wasn't much for organised events anyway.

That being said, Hermione had a vague, but working knowledge of how high society operated. She knew just how rigorous each season was with galas and glittering balls, charity and sporting events, magical garden shows and festivities, dinners and tea parties. It wasn't unheard of for there to be an activity every day for a solid month. When she'd told Narcissa to scale back on her plans for the current social season until everything with her potions was sorted…

Well, they had regressed back to the mean.

 _Silence_.

Hermione was qualified, prepared, and resolved to outlast Narcissa in the prolonged stalemate, which ended up being more of a gift than a challenge. She had no idea how Narcissa occupied her thoughts during the impasse, but Hermione used her time wisely, laying out both a daily schedule for Narcissa to follow, and working out the technicalities of her potions regime.

For that, she'd need alone time with several potions books in her collection and possibly another firecall with the Healer Smith. She was mentally calculating the time difference when she heard a throat clear.

Prim and high-pitched.

She lifted her head from where her notes were spread across her desk, a single eyebrow arched as she met Narcissa's cool expression.

"Yes?" It was intended to sound patient to the point where it bordered on condescending. Judging from the way Narcissa's eyes sharpened into shards of ice, Hermione had been right on target.

"I am willing to negotiate scaling back my activities, Miss Granger. However, I do not think you grasp that one's standing in society is more than simply wealth and influence. It is important to me and the future of my family, but I do not expect _you_ to understand _tradition_."

Hermione's jaw clenched. She wasn't under any delusions that they would become anything more than Healer and patient during the course of her treatment, and that statement made the point very clear. Also, it meant she had no problem speaking her mind in any way, shape, or form.

_Lovely._

But also not surprising.

Hermione could handle anything Narcissa threw at her.

"You're correct, I don't understand," she said placidly and Narcissa tilted her head. "However, my lack of knowledge has little to do with my blood status and _more_ to do with the fact that you were gone for _years_ from any society circles."

"Which makes it more imperative that I am _seen_."

"I'm sure your son can take your place at these events," Hermione suggested with a flourish of her hand. "I have no doubt that you've groomed and trained him well to be a perfectly respectable member of high society." She fixed the witch with a hard look. "You _certainly_ raised him to believe himself superior to everyone because of nothing more than his family name and the purity of his blood. I'm certain he'll fit _right_ in."

Narcissa bristled like a cat that had been splashed with cold water, but Hermione only maintained her even stare with her eyes on her patient. The expression on Narcissa's face was sharp, a testament to the fact that she'd struck a tender spot with the older witch.

Perhaps a source of her shame.

_Interesting._

She hadn't been aiming for it, but had hit it anyway.

"I suppose I deserved that."

"You did." Hermione didn't mince her words. "I know you're used to being spoken to in a certain manner, but for as long as I'm able to, I'm here to take care of your body and preserve your mind as long as possible— _not_ your feelings." She paused, allowing her words to sink in as she organised her next statement. "I think it should be stated right now that I will show you the same respect that you show me. I hope that we can come to a sort of understanding during my time as your Healer."

If she would have blinked, Hermione might have missed the slight furrowing of Narcissa's brows and only caught the look of calculation followed by careful consideration on her face. "Perhaps we can."

It was enough.

She laced her finger together and placed her hands on the parchment strewn all over her desk. "Now, we were discussing diminishing your Society activities in favour—"

"Draco is simply _not_ an option." Narcissa's tone made Hermione recoil as much as her words did. The divisive line had been drawn in the metaphorical sand. "He has little interest in society, and thinks it as a waste of time."

She was sure there was more to that, but Narcissa kept it to herself. Furthermore, Hermione didn't disagree with him on that front, but kept her face perfectly passive and trained on the older witch.

Years spent embroiled in Ministry politics had also improved her poker face exponentially, and she wore it well enough for Narcissa to continue speaking. Hermione noted both the sweat on her brow and the tiny tremble in her hand when she held her teacup and frowned.

"When his presence is required, Draco will attend, but he _refuses_ to socialise with anyone. He will not dance, speak to, walk with, or even be seen showing any sort of attention to a single eligible witch, which would be the entire purpose of his attendance…"

Hermione's attention drifted to the silent duo of guards. One was looking at the abstract painting over her fireplace and the other was yawning. She kept the amused smirk off her face when she focused on her patient… who was _still_ going on about her son.

"Draco _is_ a widower in need of a wife, but only when it is proper for him to take one again. That is what I am using this season to prepare for. I will not stand anyone speaking ill of him—at least not while _I_ am still here with all of my faculties."

It took every shred of self-control for Hermione _not_ to roll her eyes.

"Unfortunately, my son is… there is something stirring in him that has been building since Astoria's death and it will not be quieted. I am hoping to introduce him to someone of his liking before whatever is going on with him comes into complete focus." The phrasing of her statement drew Hermione's attention like static electricity—just a little jolt, then it was gone. "The issue is timing. He attends the marriage dates that I arrange—not because he wants to, but purely out of duty to his family. I'm afraid I am on a serious time constraint when it comes to his compliance, so I have been meeting various prospects at society events to arrange these dates. As you can see, Miss Granger, my presence is vital."

Hermione took to drinking her tea in an attempt to swallow down each and every retort that tried to surface, but found herself out of tea and _still_ rankled. Bothered by her words. Her flippant tone.

It wasn't her business.

 _Really_ , it wasn't.

Hermione chanted the phrase to herself repeatedly, but hell, she'd mentally overstepped so far that even when she tried to correct it, she _still_ found herself careening off the side of the cliff into _not her business_ territory—which was dangerous.

So, for her own sake—as the thought would pester her relentlessly until it festered and she _had_ to think it—Hermione allowed it safe passage across the bridge of her mind, then locked it away with the _hundreds_ of things she would never say.

For starters, Astoria wasn't six months in the ground and there she was, trying to marry Malfoy off again— _but only when it was proper_. Hermione pinched herself to stop the look of disgust from escaping. She didn't know enough about pureblood culture to judge them for it. For all she knew, a quick second wife was their answer when a motherless child was involved.

It seemed to be Narcissa's.

But what did she know?

Pansy had said that they arranged their marriages—sometimes before birth—so a new one wasn't exactly a farfetched idea. Narcissa _had_ said that she didn't want him to be alone after she was gone.

But Cho was right, it just seemed _cold_.

And Daphne's bitterness made more sense.

Threats. A job that seemed almost like a personal mission. A deceased wife. A selectively mute son. Dying mother. The circumstances of Draco Malfoy's life were stressful and complicated in a way that seemed painfully obvious to Hermione. Adding a newly contracted marriage—one born from force and not choice—seemed very much like throwing accelerant on an inferno. It would burn out of control.

Narcissa appeared willfully ignorant of the potential consequences of her actions.

Probably out of sheer stubbornness or perhaps because acknowledging them wouldn't do her agenda any good.

Which led right into her other thought: regardless of the situation Malfoy had found himself in following the death of his wife, perhaps if she didn't _force_ a grown man to attend marriage dates like an errant bachelor, he might do it on his own. In his own time. In his own way. With the person of his choosing. _If_ that were allowed.

Hermione didn't know, nor did she care, really.

Feeling much better now that she'd let those thoughts run free, Hermione locked the door and threw away the key. She focused on her real objective. "I'm reasonable and willing to negotiate."

At that, Narcissa, who was idly toying with the ring around her neck, looked intrigued.

"I'll monitor you daily for the first few weeks and you should go on as normal to establish a baseline under the new potions regime. However, you must keep your stress levels as low as possible while at these events. Also, you must take a day for yourself to mentally relax—any day of the week would suffice, I'm not fussed about specifics. I personally suggest the spa or perhaps taking up a new hobby that's not physically strenuous but still mentally stimulating. Last, because I can only imagine how you exert yourself at these events, I'll attend to observe you, but stay out of the way. Only ones that I have been invited to as well, as I'm under the impression that your condition is a secret. Am I correct?"

"You are. And I intend to keep it one until I can no longer do so."

"Does Mal—Draco know?" Because it would be hard to explain her presence if he didn't.

"He does, but…" She trailed off, looking uncomfortable as her face grew sombre and a sigh accompanied her downward stare. Her hands were properly placed in her lap. "Since you are likely to find out anyway, my relationship with my son is… _complicated._ We live together in our family's home that he purchased after we returned from France, but I rarely see him unless it has something to do with Scorpius' care or our numerous discussions around the subject of his eventual marriage. For a myriad of reasons, we are not on the best of terms. I doubt he even cares about my illness. He has not inquired once about my health since I told him."

"Ah." That was all she could say on that front.

Her actual answer— _how_ _unsurprising_ —wouldn't have been welcomed.

She should have expected the added density to the situation. After all, she was dealing with the _Malfoys_. Hermione hadn't needed to know about the fractured state of Draco and Narcissa's relationship to recognise that she was sailing into stormy waters.

But Hermione had a plan to skirt the outer edges of the storm, never allowing herself to get too close. She had all she needed to do just that: a sturdy boat, proper anchors, and a good moral compass should she need to find true North. She wasn't worried, secure in her resolve to care for Narcissa and give her the time she wanted to fix what had been broken.

And maybe work with Malfoy to figure out a plan for further along down the road.

"Are you available for a home visit? I'd like to see the set up to figure out if I'll need to use my own kitchen to prepare your meals."

"Meals?" Narcissa didn't hide her scepticism.

"Yes, _meals_." Hermione pointedly ignored the look. "I prepare meals for my patients, as I believe food heals, and with your condition, your diet is just as important as the potions I will prescribe."

"Well, perhaps with house-elves and magic—"

"I don't cook with magic, and I _don't_ have a house-elf."

At the strong statement, the naked look of aghast bewilderment on the older witch's face was so comical that Hermione wondered if she'd _ever_ eaten a meal not prepared with magic.

"Then how _do_ you cook?" There was suspicion in her eyes, as if she only started fires for cooking with twigs and flint rock. Primitive.

"In a kitchen. With recipes, measurements, and a cooker. Might use a knife. As far as food, I use ingredients from my garden and I bake my own bread with flour I purchase from a Muggle farmer near my home." If at all possible, the witch looked even more put off. Hermione continued on as if she weren't looking so scandalised. "I'd like to start you on a full diet, but I understand how difficult that will be, so I'm willing to start you off with one meal a day and increase from there."

Narcissa looked as if she were trying to feed her aconite. " _Why?_ "

Hermione unrolled the parchment that contained a summary of her research.

It was a valid question. One that she had the right to know as it pertained to her health.

"There is much we don't know about your condition in those with magic, but with the Muggle version of your disease, research shows that maintaining a healthy diet is very important. As you decline, your mood will change, as will what you want to eat, so malnutrition, weight loss, and dehydration may occur."

She caught the way the witch flinched and had to remember that, while she might have accepted her fate, discussing the inevitable would never be an easy topic. Hermione knew better, then smoothed her words out in a semblance of an apology, aiming more for comforting than clinical.

"I believe that the more aggressive we are in treating you and getting your symptoms under control, the slower the disease will progress." She spoke slowly, clearly. "I'd like you to eat more foods with antioxidant and anti-inflammatory compounds, which is why I'm going to start making meals for you. I have a list prepared for your review, should you like to make suggestions based on your personal preferences." Hermione offered her another parchment that she accepted with tentative hands.

"I would like that, thank you."

"I offer no guarantees, but I'm learning about your condition as we go." Which was something Narcissa knew. "I'm nearly finished with creating your potions, but I've found that there are some ingredients whose benefits are enhanced by combining them with certain foods."

"And I _am_ willing to make the necessary changes… however _unconventional_ they may be."

Which opened up a line of conversation that needed to happen. "And the Specialist—"

"No." Narcissa's response was firm and unequivocal.

"Might I ask for a reason why? Studies show—"

" _No_ Muggles or their _Specialists_." Narcissa spat the word as if it were poison. Then she fixed Hermione with a hard look of warning. "If you cannot abide by my wishes, then I will find a different Healer who can."

The statement made it very clear who Narcissa believed was running the show. And while that might have worked with her Primary Healer, it would not with her. Hermione made a casual gesture to her fireplace in a move that was purely to bait her. "You're free to do as you please. I have better things to do with my time than help someone who isn't willing to help themselves."

Narcissa's face tightened with anger first and Hermione readied herself for a fight—one of many, unless she took the out provided. But the argument never came. From one breath to the next, she visibly relaxed; a blankness swept over her pale features that was odd and alarming.

They stared at each other in mutual confusion. "Who _are_ you?"

Realisation jolted Hermione like a thunderclap, but she forced herself to remain calm. Patient. Understanding. "My name is Hermione Granger."

Hermione offered Narcissa a handkerchief to wipe her brow, staying her hand at the guards who were now fully paying attention.

After she dabbed her hairline, Narcissa's eyes wandered around the room, focused as if she were trying to pick up clues. Her hands trembled, but not from the cold. Then her gaze fell back on Hermione, a twitch at the corner of her mouth as her jaw ticked. "How did I get here?"

Hermione was smart enough to know when to fight and when prudence called for retreat. This required the latter. "I'm your Healer. This is my office."

There was another pause and Narcissa took several deep breaths as she placed her fingertips on her temples, closing her eyes tight. With a small nod, she seemed to come back to herself, but was clearly still shaken by the empty space in her mind. "Of course, of course. Do carry on, Miss Granger."

 _Carry on_ would have sent her back through the fireplace, per their previous argument, but Hermione wasn't cruel or unfeeling. The discussion could wait. It would have to. "Would you like to pick this conversation up later?"

"I'm not an _invalid_."

Ah, she was completely back then. And surly from the moment of vulnerability.

"Of course not," Hermione replied thinly. "How often does that happen?"

"More than I'd like."

"For how long?"

"Shortly after I was diagnosed."

"Was that before or _after_ you picked your new potions?"

Narcissa's lack of an answer was all Hermione needed to know. "This treatment isn't going to be without its side effects and you might not like them. The important thing is that you stick to the plan."

And Hermione wasn't naïve enough to believe that she wouldn't try to push. It was Narcissa Malfoy's way—stubborn and proud, she wasn't used to giving up any sort of control to anyone. Not anymore. Never again. Not if she could help it. No matter the reason or the cost.

While compliant now, Hermione knew better than to believe that would be the norm.

After clearing her throat, she continued on with her expectations now that her patient seemed ready. "I'd like for you to exercise. It will help with balance, which may reduce the chance for falls. Massages help increase circulation, so I recommend them. I'd also like to see where I can store your potions during the home visit to check out your kitchen capacities. I'll brew enough for a week to make sure they're as fresh as possible. I'll be sure to bring them with a list of what to take, when to take it, and how. I'll need to meet with your Palliative Care Healers as well so that we are all on the same page."

Narcissa nodded, her eyes falling on the forgotten list in front of her. Several minutes of silence passed before she seemed completely back to normal. Their imminent argument was forever lost. Hermione deleted it from her own mind, but the topic remained saved in a file for later.

"You've put a lot of thought into this, Miss Granger, and in such a short amount of time about a disease you are not familiar with. I know I am not the easiest patient you have encountered—" A _massive_ understatement. She cleared her throat in an attempt to not choke on the words, but Narcissa was sharp enough to read between the lines. " _However_ , I do thank you for taking my case seriously, despite our history."

"Once I commit to something, I don't let up. Remember that."

Narcissa's blue eyes lifted to meet hers, and while it was so fleeting she might have missed it had she hesitated a second, Hermione caught a hint of respect in her stare.

Far more than at the start of their conversation.

Far more than expected, if she were being honest.

But later, as Hermione hung more herbs to dry for later brews, she was reminded that just as every plant started as a seed, every person had to start somewhere as well. And there, in her office, on a Monday afternoon, seemed as good a spot as any for Narcissa Malfoy to start growing.

* * *

_**  
April 6, 2011** _

Hermione was actually dating someone important…

 _Herself_.

On the second Wednesday of every month, she would take herself out. Most of the time, she went to the theatres for productions, cinema for films of her choosing, ballet productions, and concerts—and any other events she was interested in. Sometimes, she would go for a walk in the park and marvel at the world around her, maybe take a book to read for the evening until it was too dark to see. She would buy herself gifts, little indulgences she never allowed herself to have. Flowers. Sweets. Other times, she would go to the market and buy everything she needed for a quiet night in with an excellent meal and even better company…

_Herself._

Most of her friends thought it was bizarre that she actually kept to her scheduled dates with herself, but Pansy and Parvati had found it liberating and had started doing it as well. Ron would infrequently invite himself along—an invitation she always declined as that defeated the _entire_ purpose of self-partnering.

Dating herself had allowed Hermione to get in touch with what she expected from herself and potentially what she would need from an eventual partner. It allowed her to connect with herself, gave her the opportunity to improve her self-care habits, and gave herself a chance to fulfil her own desires without relying on someone else.

In truth, Hermione wanted to take herself out more, but one day a month was all she could commit to at that time. Maybe it would change in the future, but for now, it worked.

She'd skipped March and was determined to not do the same for April, but date night fell on possibly the _worst_ day imaginable.

It started with a storm the previous night that had shattered a glass pane in her greenhouse. The magical repair had gone quickly, but it had thrown her morning gardening schedule awry.

Then, Theo's name suddenly appeared on her calendar for an emergency meeting, but he'd _neglected_ to mention the fact that she would be walking into a trap named _Roger Davies_.

"You poached _my_ patient!"

There was no point in lying about something she'd done intentionally. "I did."

For a breath, Roger faltered, staring at her, flummoxed by her blunt admission. His mood shifted from astonishment to self-righteous anger. "I _never_ thought you were capable of something like this. Of all people, Hermione, I thought you operated on a higher moral plane—one where you don't go behind a colleague's back and snatch their patient. A patient, might I add, that _you_ declined! It's uncouth, unprofessional, and…"

Hermione stopped listening in favour of letting her eyes drift to Theo.

To the casual observer, he appeared exceedingly detached from what was happening in his office, which was exactly the attitude he attempted to convey. She knew better. There was a glint in his eye that spoke of just how _vastly_ entertained Theo was by Roger's rant. Hermione also caught him chuckling into his tea, not intending on stopping him.

Theo's lack of response meant only one thing: _he was testing her_.

Sometimes he did it out of boredom, but mostly, it was for his own amusement as he had a bit of a god complex that stemmed from being the most observant person in _any_ room. Theo loved to see people squirm. Well, mainly Hermione because, for the most part, she was unflappable. He also liked to test her because, no matter how many offers she had refused, he hadn't let go of the belief that Hermione would one day run the Ministry.

And even though he was wrong as _hell_ , Hermione had _never_ failed an exam in her life and she _certainly_ wasn't going to start then.

So, she took his test and marvelled at how effortless it was to achieve top marks.

Easy because she had already prepared for Roger. He'd been a blip on her radar when she'd taken Narcissa's case, small in the grand scheme of things. Knowing he wouldn't take too kindly to the theft, Hermione had already prepared a little speech that played to the things Roger valued most: his work and his ego.

"Narcissa Malfoy needs to begin treatment _immediately_ , rather than in a few months while you run tests to determine where her disease originates. Its progression is too rapid for you to waste time."

"That's insulting that you don't thin—"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you know what would happen if Narcissa Malfoy—or even Draco—got _any_ sort of inkling that your treatment delays had cost her the time she wanted with her family?"

The threat was partially empty, but not one he was willing to test if the look on his face meant anything.

Silence fell in Theo's office, and Hermione used it to hammer that thought home.

"The liability exposure alone would dismantle your career and put all your research into question, Roger. So… yes, I accepted her case." She folded her arms across her chest, face pinched. "And I broke my own rules to do it. I hope that your ego won't blind you into seeing that I've done you a _massive_ favour to protect our department and our work as a whole. Oh, and _you_."

Roger rubbed the back of his neck, as most of the men in her life did when they felt guilty. "I… I didn't see it that way." Still, he was earnest when he apologised for calling her in for the unscheduled meeting, his cheeks a touch pink. "I'll still review her file, if you'll provide a copy, and should you need assistance, I'll make myself available. I'd still like to research her family history as well—"

"I can handle that when I'm settled into treating her."

"Very well then." He glanced at his watch. "I have a meeting."

When Roger left, Theo placed his teacup on the saucer and stood tall. He fixed his cufflinks first before running a hand down his white shirt, smoothing his navy tie, straightening any creases. "Nicely done."

The fact that he looked fit didn't stop Hermione from glaring at the smirking wizard.

"A _warning_ next time would be appreciated."

The expression on Theo's face told her that was _never_ going to happen. In fact, she was about to tell him where he could go when there was a knock on the door.

Padma stuck her head in, surprised, but happy to see Hermione. "I need help."

The task ended up taking three _hours_ , an exhausting number of tests, and finally the diagnosis: powdered silver poisoning. Then she'd found the bite mark that caused Padma to make the call to report a newly made werewolf.

By the time Padma had finished recommending a good therapist and the Ministry launched their investigation into how they'd been bitten, it was well after four and Hermione only had an hour until her meeting with Narcissa and her current Healers.

It was date night, and Hermione was planning to take herself to a show in the city that started at eight. After several calculations, she realised she wouldn't make it on time unless she left from the Malfoys' home.

Which was how Hermione ended up in their spacious kitchen on a Thursday evening, dressed for a night out in a dark green lace cocktail dress and nude heels. Her long hair was tamed into soft curls with the help of more than a little Sleekeazy's. When she'd stepped out of the Floo, Narcissa had given her the first approving look in their brief association.

They convened at a long, walnut kitchen table that was larger than her dining table. Hermione had laid out Narcissa's treatment plan, her research parchment, and the potions she had brewed the night before. They were separated into morning, afternoon, and evening. Nine in total.

Narcissa's Palliative Care Healers, Keating and Sachs (she never bothered with first names), sat across from her. As far as she knew, they came once every few days and accompanied her to events as members of her staff.

Those roles would have to change over the coming months and years.

They quietly read over her detailed instructions regarding Narcissa's potion regime and meal plan. Narcissa was flipping through her copy of everything, oddly quiet with no complaints, but she put observing the witch aside in favour of assessing the private Healers.

With her mouth flattened into a line, Hermione's initial assessment deemed them perfectly adequate Healers. Nothing particularly special. They were older than Hermione, but younger than Narcissa, nondescript like most private Healers with forgettable features, but neither had any desire to stand out. They were everything they needed to be: capable of following instruction and talented enough to do their job.

They were, however, boldly loyal to Narcissa… and Hermione had no way of determining if that would be an advantage or a detriment. What she did know was that they were obviously sceptical of Hermione's presence.

And her treatment plan.

"Healer Granger," Sachs spoke up after Hermione asked if there were any questions. "This is an extensive list of potions, how do you know they won't counteract one another?"

Well, her answer was simple. She'd done her damn job, but that wasn't the answer Hermione gave. What she actually said was, "It's my specialty."

And she left it at that.

Narcissa coughed delicately.

Keating picked up the second in the line of nine vials that she had laid out to show what they all looked like. "And you want her to take—"

"The schedule is very clear." Hermione maintained a professional tone.

"It says here that you'll be providing meals." Sachs pointed out

"I will. One meal a day for now, starting tomorrow." Truthfully, she hadn't had the energy to prepare her meals _and_ brew potions. They were all unfamiliar recipes she had never attempted before, and thus the task of brewing had taken longer than she'd expected. Probably not her best work, but she had not made a mistake.

"I don't understand why the house-elves can't prepare all of her meals anymore."

Patiently, Hermione gestured to the carefully folded parchments that she'd made for them both to study. "Please review my research as it answers all the questions you may have. You may call me with any additional inquiries you may have or anything to add to my research. I would like the next thirty days to monitor Narcissa— _exclusively._ But once that passes, I expect you both to return to your normal schedules. Enjoy your holidays."

"Paid," Narcissa added.

The two witches shook their head, both pleased by the sudden vacation and their boss' generosity.

"That's all I have for today." Hermione gave them both a smile. "I look forward to working with you both." Handshakes were exchanged before they both gathered their rolls of parchment and left.

"You do not seem fond of my Healers, Miss Granger."

Hermione honestly didn't have an opinion of them just yet. Just an evaluation that could—and likely would—be adjusted with further interactions as she got to know them both better as Healers and people. "I generally work alone, so it will be… different." But not in a bad way, as their presence would make it possible for Hermione to have a life outside of working and brewing once things worsened.

There was still the bit about their loyalties that made Hermione worry.

"How long have they been employed by your family."

"They cared for Astoria for the duration of her illness. They are trained for Terminal Care."

Ah.

 _Years,_ then.

Loyalty might be an issue should Narcissa stray from her treatment plan. It didn't look like either had the fortitude to stand up to the older witch. Which would be a problem if she decided to stop complying… and judging from Hermione's research into personality changes that occurred during the duration of the disease, that was likely. Not completely on purpose, though.

Well, the fact that the Malfoys likely had a house-elf was a positive.

Should anything happen, Hermione would be alerted.

Speaking of elves, Hermione scanned the room with slightly furrowed brows.

The last thing she'd done before quitting the Ministry was swaying the Wizengamot to vote in favour of their emancipation, which had caused quite the stir up amongst the families wealthy enough to have the beings passed along generationally. With the new law, families were required to free them and provide an option for rehiring: paid _and_ provided with liveable conditions.

Furthermore, extensive documentation had to be provided to the Ministry before any family was allowed to retain an elf. The Ministry did check for undocumented house-elves—the Aurors would be called in if the Beast or Being Division had any trouble. The fines and public shame alone were not worth breaking the rules.

Hermine had even started the plans to set up a small sanctuary in Scotland for them to live free of servitude, but allowed to come and go as they pleased for work—should they decide not to live with the family.

She wondered if the plan had lived on.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa spoke up for the first time. "If you are looking for our house-elf, we only employ one part-time, as Draco feels this house is too small for a full staff. He mainly does the cleaning and helps with Scorpius' evening plans."

Hermione hadn't had an opportunity to explore their home, but based off the kitchen and the adjacent living room alone, she seriously doubted the Malfoys would willingly live anywhere that could be described as _small_.

It was oddly modern in design for such a traditional family, so much was disrupting her perception of them. It was to the point where Narcissa, in her plum dress robes, staple necklace with the gold band, and hair styled under her matching fancy hat, seemed almost out of place and too old-fashioned while she sat next to Hermione at the head of the table.

The area itself was a clean, open, and bright space, with windows, plenty of light, white walls, light wood flooring that offset the dark coloured cabinets in the kitchen, and the granite counters that matched the waterfall island.

The living room had dark grey sofas with a coffee table between them, all adequately spaced away from the fireplace she'd stepped out of over thirty minutes before. Artwork was tastefully spaced throughout the space, and Hermione saw more leading up the stairs on the other side of the room. She knew for a _fact_ that Narcissa hadn't designed it. She _also_ knew that a lot of Pansy's décor staples were present in the room, but it didn't explain just how modern it was.

And she found herself wondering…

"Zippy!" Narcissa called politely and the free house-elf materialised next to her, wearing a black bowtie and looking quite healthy.

"Yes, Mistress."

"This is Miss Hermione Granger." Hermione gave a courteous nod at the elf, who stared at her with large eyes, filled with recognition. And… _admiration._ Narcissa continued on. "She will be tending to me along with Keating and Sachs. You're to do as she instructs as if she were a member of this family."

"It will be an _honour_."

Narcissa eyed the smaller creature before her eyes slid to Hermione. "Thank you, Zippy. Now, please update me on Scorpius' progression through his schedule."

"Young Master is finishing Etiquette. Miss Prichard will dress him in proper dinner attire and he will be ready shortly. Master Draco will have no need for me. I will go home."

"Thank you. Enjoy your holiday."

Zippy gave another reverent nod and vanished with a snap of his fingers.

Hermione officially found herself baffled on so many levels that she wasn't even going to _try_ and point them all out because she didn't want to confuse herself any further. Not only was that a bad feeling, it was a completely _foreign_ concept for her. But what made matters worse was that even though Hermione _tried_ not to think about it, she found that it was like trying not to breathe; very soon the strain would become too great and she _had_ to take a desperate breath.

Which was exactly what happened.

Her thoughts ran wild.

First, Zippy was oddly well-spoken for a house-elf. Better than Kreacher. Reverent, as most were of the families they worked for, but he worked part-time, _had a home_ away, and _days off_.

That alone was enough of a shock to last her for a long time, but it just _continued_.

Not about the house-elf, but etiquette lessons for a five-year-old? Ginny had a hard time getting Al through a meal without getting food on his clothes, much less using the correct cutlery while doing it.

Blessedly, after that, the wheels in her brain slowed long enough for her to catch her breath and spit out her last two topics of confusion—their modern home and, hell, _them_ —but she couldn't muster up much of an analysis on either.

That would take time.

Loads of it.

And a whiteboard.

Hermione only realised she was broadcasting very loudly in the silence that followed Zippy's departure when she noticed that Narcissa was regarding her with a challenging look. Her head was cocked to the side, already prepared for another skirmish. To be fair, discussions that occurred due to their conflicting philosophies seemed almost normal, even after only a couple of interactions.

It was not as professional as she'd like, but better than one could hope for given the amount of time they would spend in each other's company. Hermione had a rule: she only played defence. Never offense. She left that to Narcissa, who played _so_ well it begged to wonder if the witch was only asking her pointed questions to test her boundaries and limits, poking and prodding to see how much Hermione could take before she reached her limit and snapped.

It was normal. Every patient tried, but none had succeeded.

Best they got this part over with.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, were you expecting something different from the house-elf?"

Based on her affronted tone, her tense body language, and the narrowed look of barely concealed irritation on her face, Hermione knew better than to answer that question as forthrightly as she otherwise would have. She looked more inclined to start a war than make peace. "I look forward to working with him."

It was the wrong response.

Narcissa folded the parchment with her treatment plans. "I know that my family does not have the _best_ reputation for treating elves with respect." Another one of those understatements, to say the least. "However, I assure you that Zippy is treated fairly, paid hourly wages, has holiday time, is healthy, and is _free_. He is not bound to my family, as he also works for the Greengrass family. Times have changed, Miss Granger."

"They have," Hermione agreed with a slight nod, but because she couldn't help herself, she had to point out a key counter to her argument. " _By law_."

Narcissa didn't flinch, but dug her sanctimonious heels further in. "Be that as it may, it still should speak for itself that we are _abiding_ by said law. There are _always_ ways to circumvent any rule."

Of course, Narcissa _would_ know that better than anyone.

"True, but the alternative would bring unwanted attention to your family; attention that you don't need if you want to maintain the place you've worked so hard to regain in society, which seem to be important to you. So, your compliance is a tactical avenue and, therefore, means little to me." Hermione paused, but reluctantly gave her a bit of credit. "It _is_ nice to see, however."

No words were exchanged for several moments. Hermione stood, gathering the nine potion vials she had placed on the table earlier and sliding them in with the others in the wicker basket she'd brought with her. Then, she went to search for a place to store the vials.

Narcissa's eyes were on her the entire time as she placed the basket on the countertop and stepped back to eye the long row of walnut cabinets. The open cabinets were lined with decorative kitchen items. Hermione opened the door in front of her. Glass, cups, teacups. She closed it.

"Miss Granger…" The older witch's tone was thoughtful; it sounded like she had been contemplating whatever she was about to say for a while. Hermione remained silent, allowing her to continue. "I have noticed in our interactions that you are _very_ opinionated, and you do so little to censor yourself."

"Touché."

Narcissa gave a flippant wave of her dainty hand. "At my age, I believe I have earned the right to speak my mind, wouldn't you say?"

"You do have that right, just as I have a right to speak mine. Age doesn't mean that you have a free pass, nor does it mean that you're exempt from being held accountable for your words and actions."

"I mean no offence, of course. I am just getting to know you better, since we are to be around each other for the foreseeable future." Narcissa cleared her throat like she wanted to say more, but stopped herself.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at her, eyebrow raised expectantly. "Go on."

Narcissa's eyes were slightly narrowed in a manner that meant she was ready to keep pushing. Hermione welcomed the challenge with a rather bored expression.

"It's just that during our interactions, I've noticed a few things. You _are_ Draco's age, yes?"

"From what I remember, I'm nearly a year older. I'll be thirty-two in September."

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Divorced?" There was an antiquated disgust in her tone at the word.

"No."

"Engaged?"

"No, I'm single."

"For _years_ , I imagine, hmm?" The question sounded innocent, but there was something patronising beneath it. "Your lack of response means that the answer is yes, something I find interesting." Narcissa touched her chin, appearing thoughtful. Then she ran her fingers over the necklace that often seemed to clash with her attire, but she wore it regardless. "That you are unmarried at your age makes sense in a way. Your uncompromising attitude is unbecoming of a woman who seeks to marry."

"Not everyone wants to marry."

She levelled Hermione with a knowing look. "You are _quite_ liberal, Miss Granger." And it was the same tone someone very rich would use to call another person very _poor_. "However, you _are_ a woman. It is in our nature to want to marry, raise a family, settle down, and be a wife."

There were two vastly different opinions competing for dominance in Hermione's head.

The first was the bothersome truth that Narcissa wasn't _wrong_. Hermione _had_ toyed around with the idea of really committing to building a life with someone and having children of her own, but it hadn't worked.

If she were being perfectly honest with herself, after Ron, she'd never given it an honest try.

 _However_ , the second idea was louder, more rankled by the fact that Narcissa's comment was _completely_ off the mark. Hermione _was_ indeed a woman. While she wouldn't judge anyone who wanted to go that route—because it was _their_ choice—she had more lofty aspirations than _only_ being a wife, married for the sole purpose to breed.

Hermione was a _professional_ and Narcissa was her _patient_ ; she refused to let the witch provoke her. So, in lieu of a response, she continued searching for a cabinet to store her weekly potions. And while she opened and shut various cabinets down the row, she formulated at least seventeen responses in her head.

Because one wasn't enough.

"The upper corner cabinet is empty and will do just fine."

Of course, Narcissa was correct. It was her home, after all. As Hermione started carefully placing the labelled vials in rows and organising them, Mrs Malfoy delicately cleared her throat as if she were about to address a captive audience. If her voice had been a little higher in pitch, she would have reminded her of Umbridge.

Hermione, already slightly flustered from having to censor herself, tensed before she realised she'd done so. Then, she gritted her teeth. " _Yes_?"

"I confess I am _intrigued_ by you, Miss Granger." She wasn't certain if that was a good or bad thing, but decided it best if she said nothing and allowed the witch to continue uninterrupted. "You remind me a lot of myself, and because of that, I have decided to give you a bit of friendly advice. Just a little something my mother once said to me."

Hermione ignored the way the witch's drawled words made her feel like a rat who had learned how to push a button without being trained.

"I am not accustomed to your culture, Miss Granger, but _wizards_ do not want a witch that emasculates them. They have no interest in a witch who will challenge them in every aspect, someone _too_ capable of taking care of herself, too used to being alone. Wizards want to be _needed_. Adored. Catered to. They want to _lead_ , and _not_ be led. Even if you have to fake it, Miss Granger, I suggest you learn to do that if you _ever_ hope to marry."

Hermione paused halfway between placing the last of her morning potions in a neat row on the shelf as she decided on whether to respond or pretend like she hadn't heard a thing.

It wasn't the first time someone had said that to her, so it didn't grate at her like it would have in any other situation. In fact, Hermione silently thanked Mrs Weasley who—during all their little talks when she was dating Ron—had unwittingly prepared her for the current situation.

Right down to her response.

Yes, response, because she could no longer hold her peace. Not when it had been so thoroughly disrupted.

It simply wasn't in her nature.

Hermione placed a vial on the shelf and continued working, finishing the last of the morning vials before she inhaled, exhaled, and summoned a chill in her voice that even she hadn't expected.

"That's the difference between us, I suppose."

"Oh?" Narcissa sounded intrigued.

A moment of silence passed between them as Hermione started on the afternoon vials, still facing away. "Unlike you, I won't fake it or play a role _just_ to appeal to _or_ please a man. Yes, _man_ , because wizards are men, first and foremost. There is no distinction between the two. If a _man_ wants me, he'll want me as I am now and he'll want who I will become. I'm constantly growing and changing, just as I expect he will be. He won't be intimidated or _emasculated_ by my power— _or me_ —because the man I _choose_ will be just that: _a man_. Not an insecure child."

She exhaled, trying to force the keyed up energy that accompanied her words to pass.

But it didn't.

"The man _I_ choose will be secure in himself and the roles that we will play in each other's lives. And _when_ I cater to him, it _won't_ be because I'm appealing to his ego, but because I want to. Because I love and respect him and what we share. _When_ he chooses to lead, I'll follow, not blindly or as an act of appeasement, but rather by choice. Because we are, first and foremost, _partners—_ which means I'll trust him _not_ to make decisions that will affect us both jointly and individually without consulting me first. It'll be our _duty_ to each other and the—"

"Draco, how long have you been _standing there_?"

It happened in a series of blunders that, had Hermione been more cognizant about what was going on around her and not in full-on _rant_ mode, might have been avoided. It started with the wind _instantly_ vanishing from the sails of her argument; the energy behind her fervent words just as dead on the water as they were in her throat. Then she lost her footing—both figuratively _and_ literally—as her heel lost its grip, skidding out from under her.

Narcissa's loud gasp was all she heard when she only _just_ managed to keep a vial safe—and not ruin a night's worth of hard work—by catching herself with her elbows on the counter.

"Miss Granger, are you all right?" At least Narcissa had the decency to sound startled and worried.

"I'm _quite_ all right." Hermione pulled herself back up and resumed her task. Nothing to see. Of course, her ankle hurt almost as much as her pride, but she would rather break the other one than admit it. "Just going to finish up here and head out. I'll be back in in the morning with your meals."

"Are you certain—"

"I'm fine!" And because that sounded too flustered and sharp, Hermione tried it again, still with her back to them. "Thank you for your concern but I am perfectly well."

The silence that followed was as long as it was deafening. She could almost feel their eyes on her, observing. She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. But Hermione took her time and composed herself as she continued placing the vials of potions on the shelf. Noticing she was running low on excuses not to turn around, Hermione was immediately relieved when Narcissa started talking to her son.

"How long have you been home, Draco?"

"Not long. How was Scorpius today?"

The first thing Hermione noticed was that he sounded older—a thought she found silly because _of course_ he did. They were adults now, no longer scared children on opposing sides of a war. It made sense that his voice was different, that his pitch had deepened to a lower, more confident, more _rich_ tenor. He still sounded posh—something that would likely never change—but Hermione found it oddly comforting.

It was reassuring to know that while some things could change, there were still constants in human nature.

"He was well-behaved and there were no incidents. Not that you need to worry."

The phrasing made Hermione pause and tilt her head in question before she pushed the twinge of curiosity aside in favour of continuing her task. She had another ten minutes until she needed to leave in order to make it to the theatre in time for the show, but the tension in the room had spiked so high she knew better than to draw any attention to herself. Or her hurt ankle.

"Good." He spoke quietly, but there was a sharp quality to his voice. Then he took an audible breath and Hermione carefully clanked two vials together to hide the fact that she was listening. "Where is he?"

There was a tinge of _something_ there that she couldn't define.

"I am taking him to dinner at the Greengrass Estate," Narcissa told him coolly. "I assume you will be working late again…"

"That is correct."

Another silence fell, but it didn't last nearly as long.

"Please shave that ghastly facial hair off your face. I have scheduled a marriage meeting with the elder Sayre sister. She is twenty-five now, and while I feel that is _old_ , you—"

"Cancel it." Malfoy's tone was clipped with a sort of finality that Hermione understood. The conversation was over. "I'll be working in my office tonight."

"You could at least show your face at dinner wit—"

" _No."_ His response sounded decisive, but also churlish. "Enjoy your evening."

The silence was brief, almost awkward.

"I know Scorpius comes to sit in your office when he is put to bed. Do not keep him up late, Draco. He has a schedule to keep. The nanny says he has been grouchy in the mornings lately."

"What would you have me do, Mother?" There was a brittle pause. "Would you have me turn him away?" The question was hollow. Empty.

"Draco—"

"I think we're finished here."

Hermione was still facing away from them, but the tension that lingered was loud, angry, and _visceral_. But that strain was mostly coming from Malfoy, tangible enough that she thought she could reach out and touch it. She wouldn't though. She knew better. It might have seemed as controlled as Malfoy's tone, but something that inherently volatile would surely explode with only the slightest bit of carelessness.

The sound of Narcissa moving reached her ears just before she heard her heels connect with the hardwood floor.

"Is that all for today, Miss Granger?" There was a twinge of exhaustion in Narcissa's voice that hadn't been there earlier. "I have another engagement to attend."

"Yes," Hermione answered, but only after a small delay as she tried—for the sake of propriety—not to appear though she was eavesdropping.

Which she was.

But honestly, how could they expect anyone _not_ to listen?

Hermione was _nosey_. Too much so for her own good. With a healthy and almost insatiable thirst for knowledge in any form—even when it didn't pertain to her—having an almost cryptic conversation in her presence was like placing a glass of Firewhisky in front of an alcoholic and telling them not to drink.

It was an _impossible_ feat.

When she considered it, Hermione arrived at an excellent question: could it be considered eavesdropping when they were speaking so freely in front of her?

 _No_.

She cleared her throat. "I'll finish here and see you in the morning."

"Very well."

Hermione heard Narcissa's heels click across the wood floor, echoing as she walked away with measured steps. Narcissa paused once for several breaths, then continued on, her footsteps fading into nothing. Hermione almost relaxed and placed the last of the vials on the shelf, but then remembered something important.

She wasn't alone.

Well, Hermione supposed it would happen at some point. She shut the cabinet and carefully turned around. Keeping her eyes on the floor in an attempt to mind her aching ankle, she turned in a slow circle, bracing her hands on the edge of the granite countertop as she lifted her gaze to the remaining Malfoy across the room, partially obscured by the island between them.

Despite Parvati's recent ranting about Malfoy being climbable, for the last year and a half, Hermione had been listening to Harry vocalise his grievances about the man's behaviour and character. His complaints coupled with how she remembered him at school and his trial had created a detailed picture in Hermione's head of what he was _supposed_ to look like—a thin, pale, sneering prat with cold grey eyes who wore his hair long like the father he sought to emulate.

But the real version wasn't anywhere close to that.

Except for his attitude, Malfoy had never been described as ugly, so that fact hadn't changed in thirteen years. If anything, the passage of time had only served to make him _more_ aesthetically appealing, which was a thought _so_ patently ridiculous that Hermione rejected it instantly. For good measure, she then had the banned notion burned, the ashes swept up into a neat pile, and _binned_.

However, sweeping always left a bit of residue, but not enough to matter.

Malfoy was taller than she remembered, perhaps a head taller than Harry, still lean and pale, but not in the hollow and almost translucent way he'd looked after living through the hell of having Voldemort as a murderous house guest. He looked stronger. Serious. Poised. He stood taller, far more confident. Hermione figured that had come with age because Malfoy _had_ matured—at least, physically.

Time—and a bit of facial hair—made his boyish features taut, sharper, and more defined. But not so _refined_ where he looked like his father. On that note, Malfoy wore his blond hair—not long like other pureblooded men—but rather short and parted to the right, combed into a pompadour style that suited him.

He was…

He was walking towards her. The sound of his shoes on the wood floors was loud in the silence.

Hermione never averted her eyes, aware that she was staring boldly at him. But he returned her gaze with one of his own, grey eyes unreadable—except for a twitch in his jaw and a glimmer of what looked like an odd mix of curiosity and suspicion as he stopped on the opposite end of the kitchen.

The way they stood now, facing each other with no island between them, felt as if they were readying for a duel. It made her pulse quicken, made her ready to fight; her wand hand itched to feel her trusty vine wood in its grasp. But it was tucked in her beaded bag on the island, exactly halfway between them.

Hermione pushed herself off the counter, walking normally, confidently, despite the stabbing pain in her ankle. She stopped at her bag and took her eyes off him long enough to pick it up. She cut her eyes back to the man who hadn't moved a muscle, noting little things: the way he stood, the signet ring on his right hand, the way he watched her like a chess master watched his opponent's moves. But mostly, Hermione noticed his body language, which was relaxed in a way that was completely at odds with the intensity that rolled off him.

She had to say _something._ The air between them was too taut to remain silent, so Hermione opted for something simple.

His name.

"Malfoy."

When he said nothing in response, she searched his face for a hint of reaction, but saw nothing discernible… except for the flip of the switch and the moment he stopped looking and started _seeing her_.

The weight of his gaze was unsettling and uncomfortable, but Hermione fought off those feelings and tilted her head in defiance. She hardly recognised herself in this scenario where she should have had plenty to say, yet found herself unable to speak.

But then his eyes cut from her feet to her face so fast that she almost missed it. Hermione did not, however, miss the fact that in just that look, Malfoy had assessed her almost as completely as she had him.

A quick glance at the wall clock behind him, coupled with a strange little jolt, told her that it was time to go.

Hermione turned on her heels, making sure to keep the pain off her face and out of her gait, and she walked away. Careful steps, but not too careful. She felt his eyes on her like pin pricks. It only made her want to leave quicker. Her exit strategy was nearly a success when she heard him say one word.

 _Her_ name.

" _Granger_."

It took until intermission for Hermione to realise that something else had changed about him.

Malfoy hadn't said her name like a curse or a filthy word that he _had_ to spit out of his mouth.

It had sounded like a riddle.

One he intended to solve.

_The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their right names._

**Proverb**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: AND the ghost of Draco Malfoy appears in the flesh. Highkey been panicking about his arrival, but YEET. In other news, this week has been long and stressful. Stay kind to each other. See you next Friday.


	6. There Is No Crown

**  
Six  
** _There Is No Crown_

_**April 10, 2011** _

  
Percy Weasley didn't do social calls.

At least, Percy Weasley didn't do social calls without purpose.

That would be a waste of his time, and he had never been the sort to do such a thing.

They were close in the sense that they had been friends for years—through Ron, obviously, but outside of that, too. Percy handled all of her legal issues: documentation, concerns, and questions. He also kept her abreast of what was happening in the Ministry and beyond, but nothing else. Percy was careful about that, just in case anyone had questions for her.

So, when Percy stepped out of her Floo after nine, while she was kneading dough for bread, Hermione regarded him with a puzzled expression that cooled to something wary when she noticed his casual attire.

"Are you all right?" she asked with a slight tilt of her head. "Everything okay with Arthur and Molly?"

"Yes, of course." Percy was wearing grey trousers and a plaid shirt, but he might as well have been in pyjamas.

_Very strange._

It all got weirder when Percy washed and dried his hands before approaching her from the left. Ready to help.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to bake bread?"

"No, but I make an excellent banoffee pie."

_Good enough._

He took over kneading the dough while Hermione prepared the breadmaker—a gift to herself after several disastrous attempts. Percy worked quietly, his mind seemingly elsewhere. The pan was ready before he finished and she had to bump his shoulder to get his attention. Embarrassment tinted his features, turning his ears red in a way that reminded her so much of Ron that it made her snort. He stepped to the side and allowed her to finish up, and by the time she washed her hands of the flour, his were cleaned and he was sitting at the island. It was too early in the baking process for them to smell the product of their efforts, but soon.

Hermione loved the smell of baking bread.

It smelled like home.

She finished drying her hands with her back still to him. "I know this isn't a social call." Then she looked over her shoulder at the redhead whose pensiveness had returned in the midst of the silence.

"It's not." Percy had never been anything except direct.

"More than one thing?"

"Of course."

Hermione joined him at the island, but only after grabbing Schiava from the chiller and summoning two glasses. He poured while she sat down and they both swirled their glasses before drinking quietly. It was good. Sweet like berries and cotton candy. She'd picked it because, while Percy would claim to prefer merlot or chianti, Hermione knew he had a penchant for sweeter dry wine that was light and elegant.

"Where do you want to start?" Hermione turned on her stool to face him. "Business might be easier. How's your pet project?" She gave Percy a meaningful look, knowing little about it beyond its existence.

Tactical ignorance.

"Slowly coming together." His answer was flippant. "I'm trying to arrange a visit to a Cambridge library with a secret, private wizarding section. He happens to have access that I've been trying to obtain for the last four years." Hermione's eyebrow lifted in silent curiosity at the very mention of a secret library. "It has records from around the time of the Wizengamot _and_ the Ministry's formation. The less you know the better."

"True." Hermione couldn't help but wonder. "I wasn't aware that any of you worked jointly on the pet project. Or really knew each other outside of wherever it is you all meet to plot."

"We don't. We're all linked by a common goal. I just happen to be working with this person."

Hermione continued sipping her wine. It wasn't much longer before the smell of baking bread began to suffuse the kitchen. "Anything else?"

In another uncharacteristic move, instead of savouring, Percy finished his wine in two mouthfuls and refilled. Whatever was still bothering him, wouldn't come clear in his mind. Frustrating for someone like him. Hermione could relate. It was a more intricate problem, the answer more elusive. Human in both element and in scale.

 _Personal_.

Hermione couldn't think of the last time either of them had gone to the other about anything along those lines. Maybe around two years ago when Penelope Clearwater eloped with a famous American Quidditch player. But Percy had taken the blow with ease, using her home as an escape from everyone's prying eyes and his mother's nagging about when he was going to settle down.

Tonight was obviously different.

"Just one thing." Percy had all the hallmarks of a man who had something weighing heavily on his shoulders. He exhaled the last little bit of what held him back and addressed his issue head-on like the Gryffindor he was. "Pansy."

Which prompted Hermione to finish her glass as well.

She needed a fresh one to tackle that particular issue.

They both did.

"What about her?" Hermione carefully asked as she poured, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He ran a frustrated hand through his styled hair, messing it up. Then he scowled at himself before fixing it. It wasn't the same. Percy was… off balance. Unsteady. Both shaken and still composed in a way only he could be. And, of course, she knew the reason—the _who_ that had slipped her way under his skin with a single interaction.

Admittedly, it had been a long interaction that had lasted long past dinner.

They'd gone from the table to the sofa in the conservatory, then to the swing outside. The exchange hadn't been constant chatter from what she'd remembered, just bits of exchanges. But the looks from Pansy spoke of her curiosity louder than her apathy. Moments where Percy had been real enough to shed his perfectly crafted skin and laugh at something she'd said. Small smiles had been thrown back and forth between the two, which served as confirmation of the formation of tenuous strings of connection.

Hermione had witnessed most of their exchange from the vantage point where she, Harry, and Ron had drank and talked until they were laughing at nothing and grinning at everything.

And even through the haze of wine, even while brushing Ron's hand off her knee every now and then, she could still see that Percy had seemed… at ease in a way Hermione wouldn't have believed possible had she not seen it for herself. He was far less removed and considerably more engaged than she could ever remember him being with any other woman he had dated. More than that, there had been a certain amount of genuine contentment in the air around Percy that night, one she had never experienced for herself with another person who wasn't a close friend or pseudo-family member.

Hermione was self-aware and realistic enough to recognise that something like that would probably never happen with her. Just as she knew it was unlikely that she even _could_ unknowingly expose herself the same way Percy naturally had that night around Pansy.

In fact, Hermione had known he was in deep, far before Harry had taken one good look, laughed, and said just that.

"How long have you been friends with her?" Percy was clearly trying not to sound as hungry for knowledge as he was.

"A couple of years. We have a peace treaty."

"Literally or figuratively?"

"Both." Hermione shrugged a little and ran a hand over her hair. Percy looked as confused as he was intrigued. With a fond shake of her head, she smirked a bit. "We've come a long way from arguing about kitchen cabinet colours. We're not as different as I'd once thought." She paused. "Well, we _are_ , but I've learned to appreciate that."

"She has a story." Then he frowned at himself. "It's probably not your place to say."

"Everyone has a story, but it's easy to get swept up in what we think a person's story might be, when in fact, we really have no idea what it is unless they share it with us. But you're right. It's not my place to tell you hers. I don't know it all myself." But since Hermione was a good friend and had a great deal of respect for him, she levelled with him. "However, I _can_ offer you a bit of advice, if that's something you might want."

"I doubt I'd be here if I didn't need a bit of guidance."

They exchanged looks before Hermione made a small noise in the back of her throat at the same time Percy sipped his wine. This was well outside her comfort zone, but he _had_ asked—just as she had offered.

"Pansies… are colourful and delicate." Hermione ran her finger along the rim of her wine glass. "Common but beautiful. They live under conditions where most things would die." She looked over to find Percy watching her closely, as if he were committing her words to memory. He truly wanted to understand; it was endearing in a way that softened her a bit. "Like her namesake, Pansy may not look like it, but she's tough and stubborn. She won't quit, has lived through harsh conditions, and doesn't need _you_ for her continued survival."

"That doesn't sound daunting at all."

"It's as simple as it's not." Hermione shifted in her chair. "Pansy has to _want_ you. She has to choose _you_. She has to look at each of her options, each of her reasons for saying no, and decide to say yes, despite it all. And _you_ have to be patient until she does."

Percy remained thoughtfully quiet for a moment before he drank more of his wine. "Explains why she's ignored all my letters. I even sent her a rose today. Peach… for sincerity." He was awkward just discussing it, blushing from the neck up, but Hermione smiled when he rested his elbow on the table, then his chin on his fist; human in a way that she hadn't expected to like.

She found him relatable.

Right then, Percy wasn't all waistcoats, confidence, and a member of a quiet revolution. He was just a man who didn't understand a woman's heart. Or anything else about her, for the matter.

"I'm not certain if she even liked it."

"Did you get it back?" Hermione asked.

"No."

"Then she loved it." That much she knew for certain. Pansy had no problem rejecting anyone. The fact that she hadn't spoke louder than her silence. "She's prickly as hell, so be consistent, but not clingy. Don't back her into a corner. Let her breathe. She's got her own commitment issues, but let her tell you about her history because it makes her who she is… which you seem to be drawn to."

The flash of smile she saw was slightly boyish for someone so serious and it disappeared before Hermione could call him out on it. Percy cleared his throat, sat up straighter, and she could tell he was formulating a plan.

"I have a lot of work to do." It wasn't a question, just a statement. Percy looked determined in that single-minded way of his.

"You do, and it won't be easy. Arithmancy might be easier."

Percy made a small noise in the back of his throat. "Well, it's a good thing I got an _O_."

Hermione laughed, and glanced at the clock. The bread would be done soon.

"You know, Hermione…" He spoke deliberately, which signalled a purposeful shift in their conversation. "You're good at giving advice, especially for someone who isn't actively dating."

With a shrug, she took a sip of wine. "I happen to have knowledge on this particular subject."

"Relationships?"

"No, _Pansy_."

Percy chuckled, appearing more at ease, far more relaxed and grounded than he had been when he'd first arrived. Unfortunately, he was secure enough in himself to turn his focus to her. "What about relationships? My little brother is circling again…" That time he gave _her_ a knowing look.

Hermione drained her second glass, beginning to feel the flush of inebriation. "Seems everyone knows. No one has anything better to talk about? George and Angelina? They're making a real go at it."

"Which is why everyone is turning their attention to him."

"And not you?" She cocked a brow at him.

Percy rolled his eyes. "I've been a bit preoccupied trying to restore a government. Apparently, it's still not a good enough excuse for my mother."

Hermione barked out a laugh, then covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress her humour when he scowled. "Trust me, my mum is the same. At least yours understands the good you're trying to do. Mine?" She winced ruefully. "If she had it her way, I'd be married to Ron with two children by now."

A chuckle was all she received in response. "I think that's my mother's wish for you as well. Ron wouldn't oppose either." His tone turned careful, blue eyes exploratory. "What about you? What do you want?"

"Not _that_."

"Not ever?"

Hermione considered it. "I won't say not ever, but not with Ron."

Percy drank his wine and allowed the silence between them to linger, but not for long. "You _do_ know that you didn't answer the question—that you _never_ answer the question about what you do want. Only what you don't. I won't argue about it. It's just something for you to consider."

She took a deep breath, exhaling her confession. "I haven't put much thought into my wants, if I'm being honest." And she was. Coupled with the trust she had in him, the wine began to dull her senses, and her walls dipped lower. "I could argue that I have everything I want and need nothing else. I'm quite comfortable. I'm content. Yes, I have Death Eater and werewolf issues, but I'm—"

"Surviving." Percy gave her a look that made Hermione intensely uncomfortable. "Yes, I know. But you're also lying to yourself if you believe you don't want more." He was right, of course. Had he been talking to Harry? "You are undoubtedly one of the smartest people I know, but more than that, you're unstoppable. People like you are always in pursuit. You're focused on each and every challenge you face, but when it's time, you continue pushing towards the next level of excellence. It's not in your nature to be stagnant, but you are."

"I'm allowed to not push myself harder than I have to."

He raised the wine glass to his lips and took several sips. "Of course, when it comes to working long hours or extending yourself to your friends, absolutely don't push. However, when it comes to self-fulfillment, determining what you want, what you're looking for, and what will make you happy—or even _who_ , if that's the path you wind up on—you need to invest the time."

She knew deep down to the core of her being that Percy was right—no reflection was needed, he just _was_. And that was… just as difficult to accept as it was to correct. The truth was that there was nothing except her own self-awareness to push her forward.

Which wasn't enough.

Percy cleared his throat. "Moving further down the road of what you want, my brother clings to this idea that you will come to your senses and realise he's right and that you two belong together."

"And do you think he is?"

"No. Ron's… Well, Ron's still trying to figure out what _he_ wants. But it's different than with you in that he actually does know. He's just not looked anywhere else to find it, and until he does, he'll always come back to what's familiar. _You_. He'll try to make you fit when you don't."

That simply would not work.

She and Ron were still the same people, just newer moulds of who they had once been. Changed by experience and circumstances, their contrasts were now more striking. The outside looked the same, but the inside was different. Renovated. Sometimes, what had once worked simply… didn't anymore. Or maybe it had worked right then, but with all the shifting and moulding, the pieces simply stopped fitting.

Hermione understood. But Ron? Not so much.

"That doesn't make me a solution. I wasn't the answer the first time, and I won't be this time either. I'm not sure what else I can do to make him understand."

Percy nodded, swirling the rest of the wine in his glass before taking another sip. "I understand that." It was a practical start, but Hermione knew there was more. "But you don't know either. What you're looking for, I mean. What you want."

"I'll know it when I see it." She got up and went to check on the bread, but it wasn't ready yet. She might as well have thrown in a pout for how petulant she both felt and sounded.

His chuckle was low and soft, laced with a hum of rational amusement. "We're a lot alike, Hermione. And speaking as someone who's still trying to both sort logic from conjecture and make wise decisions about a person I barely know, I can safely say you won't."

She looked over her shoulder at the man sitting at her island.

"First and foremost, you'll need time for your emotions to catch up with your rationale. You never make any moves without first analysing each step to determine if making a move is even worth it in the first place."

True. Quite true, yet Hermione couldn't help but see the flaw in his reasoning. "Okay, but you're making a move with Pansy. _Surely_ you haven't completed your calculations after one meeting."

"Actually, I have."

* * *

_**April 11, 2011** _

  
Hermione was an early riser. She relished those quiet hours when the world was dark and hushed and peaceful. Mornings gave her time to think, time to plan and prepare herself for another day.

But that morning was unique.

It was her first official day of her new assignment as Narcissa Malfoy's Healer, and she gave herself extra time to give the beginning of her new journey the respect it deserved. It wasn't going to be easy—terminal cases like Narcissa's never were, even without their clash of worlds.

But as Hermione scanned through printed articles, she readied herself for a long trip, mentally packing every ounce of patience and stamina she would need along the way as she took her first steps down the road. One that, no matter how long she delayed the inevitable, would ultimately lead to failure, but Hermione tucked the thought away.

It wouldn't do if she started the journey already thinking about the outcome.

And what did she know?

Maybe her detailed records on Narcissa would one day help the researcher who would eventually find the cure for her condition. When she looked at it from that perspective, Hermione couldn't see any of her upcoming work as a failure. Besides, not all failures were necessarily bad. They sometimes empowered a person in a way that successes couldn't. And she knew that well because hers had taught Hermione more about her own humility, strength, and perseverance than any of her triumphs ever could.

In the quiet hours before dawn, Hermione looked out the window of her office at the sky and privately wondered what lessons she would learn during this one…

She _was_ a lifelong student, after all, and as such, she prided herself on always learning new things and challenging her own ideologies. She was bound to learn _something_ from the new experience, even if it was that she would never understand pureblood culture or Narcissa Malfoy.

 _Well_ , Hermione thought with a chuckle as she made her way to the kitchen, at least she could work on her list of retorts for Narcissa's brazenly stated opinions.

Always best to be prepared.

Normally, she spent her mornings tending to her conservatory plants before moving outdoors after sunrise, _or_ she would read for pleasure. But that morning, inspired by Narcissa's preferred foods of choice, and the fact that she would be observing her for the entire day for any adverse reactions to the potions, Hermione started gathering everything she might need. She carefully packed enough food to make three meals (as she wasn't interested in eating house-elf made meals), and all of her utensils and cookware—because she had _serious_ doubts the Malfoys had the proper pans to make… well, anything without magic.

Half an hour later, Hermione found herself checking her mental list for the second time. Confident she had everything organised in her bag, she stepped into her Floo.

Her destination? The Malfoy residence.

It was nearly six by the time she stepped out of the fireplace. Ceiling lights automatically turned on as the wards admitted her with a magical warmth that tingled down to the tips of her fingers. In truth, she hadn't paid much attention to the wards—or even her surroundings. The last time she had been there, she'd been more focused on keeping to her schedule.

But now she had time to look past furniture placement.

Hermione didn't venture past the invisible boundaries of the open living room and kitchen, but she did venture towards the floor-to-ceiling glass wall—with grey curtains pulled back on each side—that led to their garden. The sky was beginning to stir. Pretty soon, warm colours of pink and orange would trickle across the horizon as the sun began its ascent. It would be beautiful to witness that outside the Malfoy's home where, beyond the white outdoor furniture just past the window, there was a blank canvas of grass.

She noted the telescope towards the back with a small nod of interest.

A decoration, perhaps?

From there, Hermione moved on, beaded bag in hand, slowly circumventing the pristine living room. She took note of the marble staircase by the wall and the long hall that extended past the kitchen, magic turning on each light one by one down the hall, inviting her to explore.

She didn't accept.

Instead, Hermione folded her arms across her chest, frowning at her surroundings.

Truth be told, she wasn't surveying their home out of curiosity or to be nosy—well, not _completely_. She always looked around her patients' home as it told her a lot about them, things she couldn't discern through any other means. It was the fastest way to learn about the little odds and ends that made them who they were, which ultimately could be used to determine their motivation, nature, and character.

It made her job easier in the long run.

And while the Malfoys' unexpectedly modern home drew forth a lot of questions that she couldn't even begin to search for answers to, Hermione couldn't get past _one_ little thing that tickled at the back of her skull…

The house felt clinical, impersonal—not at all like a home, more like a museum exhibit.

There were no accents or decorations, no bookshelves that could speak of the sort of subjects they were interested in. No tapestries with faces. No portraits—not even ones that would curse her existence. In fact, there were no pictures of any member of their family, only abstract paintings that could be found anywhere—artistic and expensive, but ultimately lacking personality and warmth.

It was actually sort of frustrating. Hermione frowned in response to the emotion, then frowned harder at the kitchen's blank countertops. Their home told Hermione _nothing_ about who the Malfoys were as a family. Or even as individual people.

She knew nothing more about Narcissa than she had before entering through the fireplace.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true.

Their home had told her one thing: they were intensely private, but that should have been obvious.

Hermione went into the kitchen and placed her bag on the island, staring thoughtfully into the immaculate, nondescript living room with her forefinger and thumb cupping her chin.

Their house had also told her another thing: The Malfoys wanted _nothing_ to do with who they had been before the war. While her current surroundings screamed superiority, there was nothing within her line of sight that told of the rich family history they had once been so proud of.

One that was still burning nearly thirteen years later under a dome of wards and magic.

It was only then that Hermione realised there was also nothing in the house that so much as _hinted_ at the existence of Scorpius. Harry had three kids, but even when James was the only one, signs of him had been everywhere. Here, there was no drawn artwork on the fridge. No toys left strewn about. No smudges or stains that even magic couldn't wipe clean.

But having met Scorpius—however briefly—it sort of made sense.

Hermione put the thought to the side. Solving all the Malfoy family's mysteries in one morning was beyond unrealistic. Family was always a tricky aspect of caring for a terminally ill patient, but she had a little time yet before she really needed them on board. Right now, she needed to focus on why she was there. And that was to try and slow Narcissa's decline.

She wouldn't be able to do that without potions, which required breakfast.

After looking around for appropriate cookware—and finding none for her intended purpose—Hermione was grateful she had brought her own. She put the perishables she'd packed in the refrigerator and set to work.

Breakfast was simple: porridge and a fresh fruit salad with pecans, chia, an assortment of berries, cut apples, with freshly squeezed orange juice. She made enough for both of them, but still had extras. Something hardy for her first dose of potions. Hermione put a kettle on for tea, pulled out Narcissa's morning potions, and had just finished when she heard a throat clear from the open entrance of the kitchen.

Hermione lifted her head, her eyes settling on the sight of Malfoy, who seemed confused by her presence in his kitchen.

Well, that made two of them because Hermione found herself _just_ as baffled by the sight of him.

First, he was freshly shaved—likely an act of appeasement to his mother—but second… he was wearing _glasses_.

Square-framed and black and— _since when did he wear glasses?_

He hadn't been wearing them before.

She would have remembered that.

"Malfoy," Hermione greeted the man, who had the Prophet and a crossword puzzle book in one hand and a _pen_ in the other. His outward appearance sent a clear message to _back the fuck off_. Typical. With his pale skin and styled hair, he might as well have also had a sign over his head that said _unapproachable_ for anyone stupid enough not to heed his first message.

Malfoy wore black like it was invented just for him, as if it defined him. It was a contrast from his mother, who wore colour all the time, but his choice wasn't particularly shocking. Black was a symbol of power, elegance, and perhaps his perceived superiority over everyone else. Harry had mentioned that he very rarely wore the navy robes that showed his position and rank. Refused to, even.

No one had argued with him.

Briefly, Hermione amused herself with the mental image of his closet having rows upon rows of black suits and robes, dress shirts and ties. All black everything. Or maybe he just had seven, one marked for each day of the week—and on the floor there were probably seven pairs of black dress shoes organised in a row. A rigid attire for an equally rigid man.

That thought stopped in her mind as if someone had pressed pause when Malfoy greeted her with a nod that was every bit as cool as his eyes were piercing.

"Granger." Maybe she had hallucinated it, but Hermione swore she saw his eyes cut down, then back to hers. But when she blinked, he was staring at her impassively. "You look… _normal_ today."

Malfoy's statement instantly placed her on a defensive edge where she felt that surge, that sharp swell of energy that caused her heart to pump blood forcefully to her muscles. Hermione felt shaky, much like she always did before a fight. She had no idea why though, and found herself unable to stop from reacting to a statement she would have otherwise let wash over her like the tide.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Oh, and his comment _definitely_ hadn't made Hermione reconsider her current attire of jeans and a plain black quarter length shirt. Not only would _that_ be illogical, it would go against everything about her unapologetic appearance that she held dear.

"Your ankle is better, I presume." Malfoy's response was more of a deflection than an actual answer.

Actually, it wasn't an answer at all.

Hermione had all but forgotten about her twisted ankle; she'd healed it the moment she was out of the Malfoy's house. Not that she would ever admit to injuring herself because his presence had startled her. "My ankle wasn't hurt."

At that, he said nothing, only approached her with a walk that managed to be business-like and efficient, but casual at the same time. His energy was distinctive and piquant, but difficult to explain or ignore.

In a low voice, just as he passed, Malfoy said, "You're not a very good liar, Granger."

Then he continued on while Hermione's hand flexed, hesitating momentarily over… whatever she had been reaching for. She didn't really know or remember what she had been doing and she found herself a bit flustered by her own jitters. Tracking Malfoy's movements with her eyes, she observed as he continued on to an upper cabinet that she hadn't looked in, placing the paper, book, and pen on the countertop. He reached, but stopped mid-way, turning his head towards her, eyes sharp and probing.

"Can I help you?"

Hermione had the good sense to avert her gaze, but she kept her ears open as he went through a sequence of actions that seemed routine. And she resumed hers, pulling her wand out and using it to clear the island of the evidence of her meal preparations and set the stasis charm needed to keep the food hot.

By the time she finished, Hermione heard his footsteps again on the wood. Not walking back in her direction, but taking a different path around the island.

Lifting her eyes, she watched as he placed a note next to a small bowl and spoon. She was so focused that the sound of the refrigerator opening jarred her. Still, a container of milk floated to the table and landed in front of the bowl, next to the box of… _Frosties_?

Hermione's eyebrows raised so high they threatened to merge with the rest of her hair; then higher while she watched Malfoy artfully arrange the bowl and spoon on the table with much more care than needed.

Now, she _officially_ had more questions than answers.

"I can hear you thinking over there, Granger. If you must know, even though it's none of your business," despite the low volume, his tenor carried his irritation across the space between them, "my mother allows my son cereal on Mondays when he's had a good previous week." With that bizarre statement out in the universe wreaking havoc on her baseline knowledge of Draco Malfoy, the man himself retrieved his wand from his jacket pocket and set his own stasis charm.

She should have kept silent, but that wasn't her way. "His choice in cereal is surprisingly—"

"Muggle?" Grey eyes cut over to her. The tiny tick of his jaw that hinted at his disapproval was barely noticeable, but she still saw it. "How unsurprisingly judgmental of you. Still, I expected better." His chide was short, only a few words, but it was as brutal as the sharp blades flashing from his eyes. His mouth was whipcord thin, jawline strong, more pronounced and crisp now that he was clean-shaven.

Malfoy was suited up, armed, and ready for an argument.

And because of his attitude, Hermione prepared herself for battle.

Hermione chased the thought about his tone back to when he'd said her name, wondering if she had been experiencing some sort of auditory hallucinations because right then, Malfoy sounded _every bit_ like the unapologetic arse Harry constantly complained about.

She folded her arms across her chest to distract herself from the fact that his tone and words, expression and presence— _all_ of it had left her inching even closer to that edge she had been trying to step away from. Her actions were an attempt to return back to the safety of solid ground. It took a breath, then a second, before she felt her agitation recede enough for her to launch a counter.

"It's not judgmental if it is based on fact."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Malfoy pocketed his wand, took a step back from the table, then approached. Hermione half-expected him to leave, having seemingly disturbed his morning, but he took a seat on the other side of the island where she stood. He summoned his paper, book, and pen, and snapped his fingers once… then realised something that Hermione was still trying to process.

The house-elf was on holiday.

Draco sighed.

For some unknown reason, she spoke. "I've got a kettle on for tea, if you'd like."

Malfoy adjusted the rim of his glasses. "No thank you." His response was curt, as expected, before he opened the book to a half-finished crossword he had obviously been working on before. Hermione's presence was forgotten as soon as he picked up his pen and started working on it.

Intrigue kept her standing there.

Hermione happened to like crosswords. Outside of the fact that it was a sort of mental exercise the academic in her greatly appreciated, they were also orderly, neat. There was only _one_ correct choice for each square. Everything was predestined in a way that was deeply satisfying. Only one thing was off…

He used a _pen_ and that was _horrifying_ to her.

It was gutsy. _Bold_. Arrogant.

But more than that, he seemed to move efficiently from one clue to the next while she looked on, waiting for him to make a mistake.

He didn't.

Several minutes passed like that. Hermione stopped anticipating an error and started noticing little things, like the fact that Malfoy was left-handed and his handwriting wasn't as pristine as his attire, but rather messy and difficult to read.

The completionist in her forced her to read the unmarked clues upside down. "Four down is abstruse."

His pen abruptly paused on twelve across, mid-letter, and his grip tightened. "I know." And there it was, the drawl she remembered. The one she hated. Hermione refused to apologise. A few more seconds passed before Malfoy exhaled in exasperation, recapped his pen, and closed his book. "I'm _certain_ you have something better to do."

Of course Hermione did, but now that he was here, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to speak to him in private about his mother's care. Perhaps she'd try to battle the flames of the fire she had voluntarily walked into. "I—"

Whatever she was about to say died when Malfoy abruptly unfolded the paper, an act that removed him from her sight. Now all Hermione could see was the front page photo of the Minister and the Chief of the Wizengamot posing together under the headline _Ministry Celebrates Seventh Economic Surplus_.

Which was unsettling.

Most of the Ministry's money went to the departments that helped with rebuilding and ensuring their economic future; far less went to defending that future. It made no sense, but very few of their actions did anyway—nothing was ever done unless it was to forward their own personal agendas and line their pockets.

They were reporting an economic surplus, but couldn't provide lycanthropes Wolfsbane, couldn't help those who were left destitute after the war and various Death Eater attacks over the years, and couldn't provide Harry a decent budget to properly train the newer Aurors. Or re-educate the older ones that swore they knew it all. Or even properly staff the Task Force.

A Task Force—Harry had informed her—that was worse off than the Auror Department. It was full of Hit Wizards that had been selected for a department that made them work long, thankless, and often dangerous hours for little money. Harry had told her that Malfoy worked for no salary. She looked around. It wasn't like he needed the money anyway, but…

Hermione frowned once more at the magical picture on the front page, watching the loop of a stiff handshake and even stiffer smiles, before looking away, her eyes drifting back to the table set up for his son.

Like his lack of salary, him setting out his son's breakfast was sweet in an odd sort of way that didn't match up with the prattish, arrogant man currently skimming through the morning paper to blot out her presence.

The kettle whistle was loud in the silence.

Hermione took her time retrieving two teacups, but left one on the counter next to the stove for Narcissa when she came down for breakfast. The second she used to make herself a cup of green tea, not bothering to add anything. She cut off the eye on the stovetop, vowing to bring her electric kettle tomorrow as she leaned back on the counter.

Hermione held her teacup in one hand while working the teabag up and down with the other, keeping her eyes trained on him as she tried to figure out a different way to speak about his mother.

From behind the paper, Malfoy's deep, dry voice cut through the quiet like a hot knife through butter. "Will your interruption of my daily hour of peace and quiet become a regular occurrence or is today a special occasion?"

Hermione stopped mid-steep.

Now that the real Draco Malfoy was there, and not whoever had been wearing his skin and speaking in his voice yesterday, she made the proper adjustments. This person, Hermione could handle, and did so by narrowing her eyes into a glare that was hot enough for the paper in his hands to spontaneously catch fire.

"Unfortunately, it appears we'll be disrupting each other's peace for the foreseeable future. I'll be working with your mother as her Healer."

"She has informed me." He brought each end of the paper together to flip the page. After rustling it twice, he went back to reading, still obscured completely by the newspaper. "I'll confess I'm surprised that you accepted her after rejecting her so decidedly."

It was a dead topic she thought she was finished discussing.

Apparently not.

"I'm well within my right to change my mind after a bit of research."

Malfoy folded the paper in half, his eyes already resting on her. Then he doubled it over again, trailing the crease with his thumb and forefinger, his movements precise and crisp.

"Only after Pansy's meddling, I heard." There was a flutter of interest about how and when he'd heard, but her growing list of questions regarding him was almost too long and she didn't want to overload herself by adding more. Besides, Malfoy clearly wasn't finished. "How long have you been a Healer? Last I heard, you were marching up the ranks in the Ministry."

"Six years. Your information must be severely outdated."

"Hmm." His noncommittal response hung in the silence until he continued. "I find it interesting that you've made a career out of taking on charity projects… albeit unsurprising."

Her recoil was minute and instinctive, but judging from the tiny quirk of his brow above the frame of his glasses, he'd still observed her reaction before she was able to cover it up.

That only caused an uptick in her irritation.

"My patients are _people_ , not projects. I doubt you'd like it if I considered your mother as a project."

"Project or person, it means very little to me how you think of my mother. Only that you actually _do_ the job she's paying an exorbitant fee for you to do."

"That _job_ you speak so flippantly about is working to monitor and possibly slowing the progression of her dementia." Hermione watched Malfoy's face for any clues he might subconsciously provide, but he gave nothing away, locked up tight. Daphne was right. "I figured that would be important to her _son_ , of all people." He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off before he got started. "Furthermore, I didn't set my salary, your mother did. I don't know what you're implying, but—"

"I'm not implying anything, Granger. I'm merely stating a fact." He adjusted his glasses. "My mother is notorious for her extravagant spending. Money is no object." Shrugging, he shifted his attention from her for a moment. "I don't care about the terms of your contract, I'm more curious about _why_ you accepted her after rejecting her so swiftly." Malfoy placed the paper on the granite. His voice was laced with suspicion. "Why did you change your mind?"

Hermione pulled herself up from her relaxed position against the counter, approaching the island he was sitting at. She noticed as his focus narrowed on her. "I have my reasons."

"That's not an answer."

"Why do they matter to you?"

His brow raised over the rim of his glasses. "I make it my business to know these things, especially if it involves a member of my family."

"Your mother isn't _easy_. What ulterior motives would I have to accept her as a patient?"

Folding his arms across his chest, he stared straight at her. "You tell me."

It wasn't his words, but rather the implication beneath them that rubbed her the wrong way. "Do I look like the sort that would exploit her? Better yet, is your mother the sort to be exploited?"

"Not at this stage, at least." It was a thin reply, at best. Narcissa was under the impression that he didn't care whether she lived one second more than she should, but his attitude made Hermione have second thoughts. "As for your other questions, I suppose it's a matter of character… and I don't believe I know yours."

"Touché."

"My character, on the other hand, has little to do with how you treat my mother." Malfoy sounded as frustrated as she felt. _Good._ She observed the stiffness of his shoulders and the small tick of his jaw, cataloguing them for later.

"No, but your character has everything to do with how well you and I are going to work together in the future as your mother declines. We—"

"Then it shouldn't matter because you and I will _not_ be working together."

Resting her teacup on the island, she folded her arms across her chest, mirroring him.

"That's interesting." In more than one way because Malfoy was absolutely _delusional_ if he didn't think he would have to involve himself at some point. _At any point, really._ "Regardless of what you think, how you feel, or your relationship with your mother, there will come a point when you will _have_ to step in, too. You'll need a plan for her as her magic becomes erratic and she begins to forget everything—including you. She _will_ have hallucinations and motor control issues, she'll become combative and have mood swings. She may Apparate in a moment of confusion and Splinch herself. There's so much more to contend with that you can't ignore simply because of how you feel. Yes, she might have Healers, but _you_ will have to start making decisions for her when she cannot."

"I'm perfectly aware of my _duties_ , Granger." Malfoy's voice was dangerously soft with an undercurrent of pure steel. "I am _constantly_ reminded of them."

Because she was listening so closely for clues, she spotted it. Beneath the cold ice of his irritation laid something that made her pause, made her reconsider her words and even her tone…

She could hear his bone-deep exhaustion.

Hermione sipped her green tea to wet her suddenly dry throat. It didn't help.

"I…" She cleared her throat. "I said no to your mother initially because we know each other, and that's strictly against my rules. That's it. No other factors played into my initial decision. Why I changed my mind, well—it wasn't just Pansy advocating for your mother, but Harry as well." And she noted the small spark of interest, holding onto it for a rainy day.

"Why would Potter—"

" _Harry_ said he would have accepted her." In response, Malfoy only blinked once, then looked away, frowning deeply. "It should have been Roger Davies here in my place, but ultimately, the decision was mine. And I made the choice with the firm belief that I'm the best Healer for the sort of care that your mother needs."

The silence that remained was not a calm or relaxing one. Though, Hermione felt some measure of relief for the break in conversation.

"Charming words, Granger." From his tone, that meant very little to him. Which was fine because they were true. "And your history with my family won't affect her care?"

"Not only did I take an _oath_ when I became a Healer, but I wouldn't have taken her case if in my core I believed I couldn't be unbiased. I understand the threat against your family. We all face the same opposition. But are you really so paranoid?"

When he didn't respond, she took a quiet breath in an attempt to mask her irritation.

"Your mother will receive the best care that I can provide, considering the parameters she's set." His face continued to give nothing, so she tried yet another approach. "Do you have any questions about her treatment plan? I can provide a copy of—"

"That won't be necessary. As I've stated, I don't care to be involved with my mother's care at the present moment."

It sounded less and less like his lack of involvement was due to his trust of her treatment plan, and more because he simply didn't give a damn. When lined up with how he'd repeatedly asked _why_ she had accepted Narcissa as a patient, his apathy didn't match up.

Not many things about him were lining up with what she knew of his character.

Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Rather than hold on, she released the thought with the knowledge that it wouldn't go far. Fundamental things that didn't make sense never ventured too far from her. With it gone for now, Hermione touched on a topic that she would one day need to attack more vigorously in the future. Today, however, she approached it like a spooked deer. "Your mother needs your support."

Malfoy did not look impressed. "My support?"

"She's not…" _Going to survive this_. She refrained from actually speaking the words.

Which was fine as Malfoy wasn't done giving his short-sighted opinion on the topic. "If you think we're going to sit around and discuss our feelings on her mortality, then you obviously don't know my family."

"No, I don't," Hermione said honestly. "However, I find it a bit _strange_ that you care more about your mother bringing her security detail everywhere because of the threat of Death Eaters than you care about the disease that's _actually_ _killing_ _her_."

His face settled into a mask harder than the granite that separated them. "Don't presume that after one day you know the inner-workings of my family."

"I never assumed anything. I was merely making an observation."

"Your observation sounds a lot like judgment, which you have absolutely no—"

"Observation, _Malfoy_ , is a neutral act of taking in information. _Judgment_ involves formulating an opinion regarding both the value and merit of what's being observed. If you're going to use the two words, know what they mean and know that they aren't interchangeable."

The hard look he gave from behind his glasses made Hermione straighten her spine and meet his stare just as boldly.

"Bullshit, Granger."

"No, it isn't. It—"

Malfoy scoffed. "You don't know how to separate observation from assumption and judgement. You _observe_ something and immediately formulate an interpretation, and from that interpretation you make a decision. An assumption, really."

"That's not true."

"Case in point: my son's cereal choices." Malfoy held her gaze, a challenge in his stare. "You observe his cereal and make an assumption that because we're purebloods we don't know anything about the Muggle world, much less allow my son to have anything from it. Which validates my previous statement."

Hermione attempted to make a counterpoint, but hesitated because—

Well, he might have had a point.

The look on his face transformed; he recognised his victory, but she wasn't finished. "Fine, then help me understand. I'll be treating your mother for the foreseeable future, and whether or not you know it, treating her is more than giving her potions to ease the symptoms of her disease. It's about understanding her drive to seek care in the first place and making sure I can keep her motivated to stay the course, even when things become more difficult down the line. Family has always been a motivator to her. It's why she sought my help in the first place and it will make my job easier when I know what I'm working with."

At her request, Malfoy eyed her sharply, his head slightly tilting to the side as he observed her with what looked like bewilderment. Hermione had no idea. She had no real baseline that she could use to decipher him.

Except Hogwarts, and that was as skewed a reference point as any because he wasn't that child anymore.

His response said as such. "My mother is your only patient. You would do well to remember that." But before he left, he pointed at the bowl of porridge under the stasis charm. "However, in the interest of _helping_ ," the last word came out in a sneer that took her back to Second Year, "I'd like to wish you luck, Granger. You'll need it to get my mother to willingly eat that bowl of slop."

As she watched him go, Hermione briefly considered testing her luck to see if she could make a direct hit when she threw it at his head.

* * *

Unfortunately, Malfoy had been right.

Narcissa stared at the bowl of porridge like it had personally offended her. Or like it would spontaneously come to life. _Or_ like she was trying to identify it without having to outright ask. Hermione wasn't completely certain which, as her face seemed to go through a wide range of emotions before settling into a look of extreme suspicion.

She heaved a patient sigh, then glanced at her watch.

Almost half an hour had passed since she'd floated into the kitchen elegantly, dressed in long, flowing periwinkle robes and the simple necklace with the plain gold band. She must have already dressed for hosting tea with acquaintances at noon (before her afternoon potions)—an hour when Hermione would make herself scarce.

Narcissa's symptoms weren't obvious that morning, but they were present. There was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead that she'd tried to dab away, despite the hand tremors. She voiced her deep frustration at having forgotten where she'd placed her favourite broach, forgot an answer to one of Hermione's questions, and was agitated from a poor night's rest.

Hermione hoped the complete regime of potions would help, but it would be days or even a week before she would be able to definitively determine that. Still, Hermione placed _several_ charms on one of her bracelets in order to turn it into a tracker that would continually monitor her vitals. The results would appear in real time on charmed paper that Hermione would check regularly.

She also quietly set a deterrent charm, just in case Narcissa decided one day that she wanted to remove it altogether. That could not happen.

Hermione's second cup of tea was nearly empty—her food long since finished, bowl and spoon washed by hand and put away. And she found herself pretending not to watch Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione skimmed the calorie content from the box of cereal that was _still_ where Malfoy had left it… along with the milk, bowl, and spoon, all neatly arranged across from where she sat.

The sugar content was _obscene_.

Narcissa delicately poked her porridge with her spoon, and Hermione cut her eyes over to her, clearing her throat politely, which made the older witch glance at her.

"It's quite good, if you give yourself a chance." Hermione felt like she was speaking to a petulant child.

The suspicious look only deepened. "I do not eat breakfast in general."

"Which is why I made porridge. It's a start. You'll have to eat, as the morning potions will make you nauseous if you don't." Besides, Hermione had watched as Narcissa tried to cover the tremor that had passed not too long ago by attempting to start a conversation about changing the drapes by the window.

The last of her old potions was out of her system and, while it was informative to see her baseline, Hermione wasn't interested in watching her struggle to hold a spoon any longer than absolutely necessary.

"Perhaps if I drink tea—"

"It's not enough." Hermione folded her hands in a show of her thinning patience. "Perhaps if we determine what you _would_ eat for breakfast, maybe—"

"There is a very long list of things I would rather eat than _this_." She poked the porridge again with her spoon.

"You haven't actually tried it." Frowning, Hermione wondered if she should have tried a more traditional English breakfast for their first day.

"It looks most unappetising." The witch nudged a blueberry in her fruit salad with her spoon. "The fruit salad at least looks palatable, but I have no taste for it at the moment. Not when it is room temperature."

"I have it on good account that you like pie, which is essentially warm fruit." Hermione frowned and rolled her eyes. "Perhaps, I could make you a smoothie."

If at all possible, the look on her face soured even more. "That sounds even more unappealing."

"How could you _possibly_ know?"

"I know because I have extremely delicate sensibilities, Miss Granger."

She was about to retort when she heard footsteps approaching quickly on the wood floors. Much too quick to be Malfoy's. Or any adult's. Which meant…

Hermione turned just in time to catch sight of the youngest Malfoy's approach.

"Remember your manners, Scorpius." Narcissa didn't even look up from the porridge she had _finally_ scooped onto her spoon.

Her words made him halt in the entryway, but his eyes scanned the room, obviously not finding what he had all but ran into the room in search of. His shoulders fell in disappointment… until he spotted Hermione, who was unabashedly staring at the little boy, _struck_ by just how much he looked like his father.

Well, except for the small differences.

In school, Draco had always been just a bit taller than Harry, but Scorpius was slightly shorter than Albus, who was taller than James had been at his age. How he compared to other children his age, Hermione had no idea. Still, he was a slight boy with pale skin. Hair that was more blond than white was parted to the left and combed back neatly. He had been dressed like a schoolboy in black shorts, white shirt, a dark blazer, socks rolled up, and leather shoes. It seemed to be his everyday attire by the way he didn't pick and pull at it.

Or perhaps it wasn't in his nature to do such a childish thing.

"You may approach," Narcissa said formally, which struck Hermione as _bizarre_ because she was speaking to _her grandchild_ —not a stranger.

She'd heard so many stories about how much she doted on Malfoy, and she had seen the evidence of it with all the sweets he'd received during school. So, it struck Hermione as odd to see Narcissa being so stern with Scorpius. It was to the point where she considered laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation, but unable to do so because it wasn't a joke.

It was real life.

And it called into focus Daphne's words from a few days ago.

Especially when Scorpius did as instructed, obediently advancing with careful steps. His chin was slightly raised, back straight, and shoulders held in a posture so perfect it looked robotic on a child.

 _Trained_ , was the first word that came to mind.

Hermione turned back to her still-steaming tea, taking a _long_ sip, in an attempt to rid herself of the slightly peculiar feeling associated with the word. Scorpius stopped next to Narcissa's chair, waiting to be addressed.

Hermione placed her teacup on the saucer with a small clink.

"How did you sleep?" the older witch asked her grandson.

She waited to hear a childlike response, if only to determine if he _sounded_ like Malfoy as well, but it wasn't until the silence following her question stretched on that Hermione remembered something of utmost importance:

_He didn't speak._

At that, she turned her head… only to lock eyes with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen on a person. Piercing and bright, they weren't his father's eyes, but she caught the stubbornness and shrewd intelligence in them that he'd inherited from the man himself. As well as that childlike curiosity she remembered from Theo's office. When she smiled politely in greeting, his ears turned red and he briefly looked down.

Hermione's grin transformed instantly for one reason only:

Scorpius was _adorable_.

Not nearly as hard and pointy as his father, the boy was softer. Not as cold. In fact, the more she looked at him, the more she could tell that there was something warm about him, in spite of his grandmother's treatment.

Narcissa noticed Scorpius staring at her and chided him. "You mustn't stare, Scorpius. It is impolite."

The little boy looked down once again in a bashful apology. Then he must have remembered himself because he stood straight—like he had been taught to do—averting his eyes. But it only lasted a moment because Hermione turned in her chair towards him, leaning in a bit as she offered her hand to shake.

"I'm Hermione."

Scorpius looked at her hand for several moments, but like with Theo, he made no move to accept it, simply lifting his eyes back to hers. And though it was a rejection, it didn't feel like one because Scorpius kept staring at her in the way small kids often did.

Curious.

Because he wanted to learn.

Because she was something new to his world.

A quick glance at his grandmother made him remember his manners, which was why he bowed politely before stepping back. Hermione's eyes followed him all the way to the chair across the table from hers, her smile waning, transforming into something more thoughtful as she watched him take his seat after removing his blazer and patting his pockets. The chair was charmed to automatically bring him up to the appropriate height for him to sit comfortably.

A bit of magic Hermione hadn't seen before, but Scorpius never reacted.

Apparently, this was his normal.

His routine.

It was odd to watch a child methodically settle in for breakfast. Scorpius knew where everything should be; he didn't even look when he first reached for the scrap of paper she had seen Malfoy leave.

A note, Hermione's brain corrected.

Draco Malfoy left a _note_ for his son.

Not out of the ordinary for any father, but the way Daphne spoke of his distance didn't exactly make a lot of sense when put next to the note. But Hermione pondered it further as she watched him unfold the note, blue eyes scanning the words with deep concentration. Almost as if he—

"Scorpius _can_ read a little, but I doubt he can read Draco's handwriting. It is incredibly poor."

Almost on cue, his head turned to the side, still trying to figure it out. Hermione suppressed her laughter, disguising it as a cough that didn't fool anyone. Narcissa frowned and when she glanced back at Scorpius, she found his unamused expression reminiscent of his father.

"He is quite shy, Miss Granger." Narcissa gave the little boy who had gone back to his note a look before pouring milk into his cereal bowl. Briefly, she left the table and returned with a small glass of juice, placing it to his right. Scorpius looked instantly confused by the drink, but of course, remained silent. "Do not be offended if he does not speak to you. I make sure to speak to him normally, even though I know I will not receive a response."

Well, Daphne had told her, but _still,_ it was so bizarre all Hermione could manage was, " _Oh_."

"Make no mistake, he _can_ speak, Miss Granger. He just stubbornly chooses not to."

Scorpius looked directly at Hermione, as if confirming his grandmother's statement with a blank expression. Then, he picked up his spoon with his left hand—yet another thing he had inherited from his father—and tucked into his sugary cereal with manners highly unusual for a boy his age—or any age for that matter.

Narcissa delicately tasted her porridge. She didn't use her napkin to spit it out, though, from the look on her face, it was a close call. Upon her first couple of chews, her face morphed from sceptical to cautiously impressed. "It is not as horrific as it looks."

"Good." Meanwhile, Hermione's mind was short-circuiting from the large quantities of rapid-fire processing it performed in the seconds after her statement. Not about her finding the porridge palatable, but before… about the silent little boy politely eating his cereal while staring at the note next to his bowl. He looked like a miniature Draco Malfoy reading the paper.

Just without glasses, the cold disposition, or the attitude.

"Scorpius," Narcissa gently chastised after a large silence where Hermione finished her tea and stored away her observations, careful not to make assumptions. "Do not slouch." She ate her porridge slower when the little boy started watching her, emulating her.

Hermione cleared her throat. "You should finish soon. I'm trying to keep your potions on a schedule and you're running a little close to the end of it."

Which was enough to distract Narcissa from further conversation.

Spoon halfway to his mouth, Scorpius regarded her for a moment with an expression she couldn't read before he went back to his breakfast. The meal progressed quickly from there, with pockets of conversation with Narcissa and her continued observation of the silent Scorpius. But once Narcissa finished, Hermione watched as she proceeded to take her first set of potions, chasing each with tea.

They were quite disgusting apparently.

After running a series of diagnostic charms that had the youngest Malfoy observing in wide-eyed wonder, Hermione went about clearing the table after checking the results on the charmed parchment.

"Do not trouble yourself, Miss Granger, the nanny will be in shortly to sort it. She usually fills in on weekends and when Zippy is on holiday."

"It's no trouble at all." Hermione went to work, picking up her empty teacup and Narcissa's bowl and walking them over to the sink. With her back turned, Hermione listened for any mishaps while she did the washing.

Scorpius appeared at her side, politely handing Hermione his empty bowl, his cup, and his spoon inside of it.

He was _helping_.

Graciously, Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Scorpius."

The little boy slowly nodded in a move that was so like his father that it was almost comical.

And yet very strange.

"Scorpius." When his grandmother called him, Hermione watched as he returned to her side.

She made quick work of cleaning his bowl and drying everything with a wave of her wand, levitating each piece back in its place while pretending not to listen—when in fact she was listening for every scrap of information that could help her understand just what the _hell_ she'd walked into.

"You did very well yesterday. Let us make it another day with _no_ incidents." There was a chill in her tone that settled on Hermione's spine. A pause followed her words where Scorpius likely responded with that strange bow of his. "You have two minutes and your tutor is waiting for you upstairs in the library."

Hermione turned around just in time for his stiff exit, making certain Scorpius was long gone before she moved from her spot at the sink. "How old is he?" Of course, she already knew, but she asked more to make conversation than anything. She wanted to hear what Narcissa had to say about him when he wasn't around.

"Five."

"He… is extremely well-behaved."

That was a massive understatement; he seemed more like a miniature adult than a child.

Except for moments when she saw hints of the child…

"We pay excellent money for tutors to make sure of it."

The detached quality of her voice made Hermione suddenly anxious for a change of subject. "The schedule you provided states that you are hosting tea. Is there a place where I can make myself scarce during that time with some reading I need to do?"

"As you plan to monitor me throughout the day for the next thirty days, you can use Draco's office to work. It is just down the hall." She pointed in the direction her grandson had just disappeared, which led her to believe there was more than one staircase in their home. The second she knew of being just off the living room. "It should be to your liking."

Hermione nodded absently, noticing the small changes in her physical symptoms since she'd taken her morning potions. Her eyes even looked brighter.

"How do you feel? The combination is designed to give you a little energy boost."

"Then they are working as planned. I actually feel…" Narcissa tilted her head to the side almost as if she couldn't believe her next words. " _Quite good_."

It was either a success or a Placebo Effect.

Only time would tell.

If Hermione had to predict how Malfoy's office would look, she would have guessed that it resembled the rest of the home: modern and clean with neutral tones, elaborately furnished, and zero personal touches. _Enigmatic._

Truthfully, she would have only earned half marks.

Malfoy's office reminded her a lot of her own. It was about the same size, cosy and not too large, with a darker wood desk that had a healthy amount of clutter. There were no plants, but there was a large, faded Turkish rug that looked more like a tapestry. Terribly unsightly, really. In front of the fireplace was a black leather sofa and a small glass table.

Above the fireplace hung an ornate family portrait with Narcissa, Draco, and Scorpius—all looking very stern and all dressed in black. The faces of the Malfoy family. If Hermione had to guess, it had been done recently, as the frame was brand new. There were two smaller portraits next to the larger one. One of Draco standing alone, currently looking severe, frowning at her presence in his office. The next was of Narcissa and Scorpius, taken likely the same day as the larger portrait. Portrait Narcissa had her hands on his shoulders and the boy looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

It was saddening.

Hermione looked away, looked on, taking in the entire wall lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all organised and packed to the brim.

But that wasn't all that got her attention.

From the doorway, at a mere glance, his office looked very much like it belonged to the conservative man society thought he should be. Books that spoke to his intelligence, family portraits that spoke to his dedication to his duty to uphold his family's name, and a space that was just ornate enough to remind a visitor of his extreme wealth. But when she stepped through the threshold and took a closer, _deeper_ look, she spotted the inconsistencies that were only noticeable to the most observant of people.

The books themselves were a dichotomy between what society knew of Draco Malfoy, how he presented himself to the world, and the identity of the man who—judging from the clutter—seemingly spent a lot of time in this room. They weren't all on magical subjects by magical authors. No Dark Arts texts or any manuscripts by any extremists. Instead, there were books on Chemistry and Geology, Botany and Physics, Philosophy and Art History. Buddhism. She spotted Blanchot, Derrida, Tolstoy, Nietzsche. Classical fiction. A few autobiographies. Poetry.

And that was just what she could _see_.

There was so much more to explore if she climbed the black ladder and scanned the higher shelves, but Hermione didn't. She left it alone with one question to the empty office:

"Who is Draco Malfoy?"

Nothing made sense. Not the home and _certainly_ not the people living within its walls.

None of it fit in the neat box she'd created for them based off of the bits and pieces she'd picked up from what others had said, the larger pieces of what she'd already known, and the more telling bits from the recent conversations with Narcissa. And for someone like Hermione, who liked things that made sense because they brought order to chaos, it was really wreaking havoc on her worldview.

It would have been easy to brand them as a pureblood cliché, reduce them all to the vision of what they ought to be, but how the hell could she possibly do that now?

 _Now,_ when Malfoy's earlier words were still ringing in her head so loud she had to jerk her head from side to side for it to subside.

 _Now,_ when she had to take a hard look at her own flawed logic and question it… _and_ herself.

Hermione opened her mind to every angle, and reminded herself that there wasn't a metric to measure people. It was something she already knew down to the deepest part of her, and yet, for some reason, that rule hadn't been applied to the difficult Malfoys.

Maybe—okay, _most definitely_ —it was her bias.

That stubborn, know-it-all part of her that just _knew_ she had them all figured out and was right about the sort of people they were. The part of her that—

Hermione sighed in resignation.

The part of her that _judged_.

There.

She said it.

Hermione _could_ admit that she'd made a few assessments about them that hadn't been correct. A character flaw of sorts. Would it change now that she was standing in the most confusing room of the house?

_No._

But what she could do was something she should have done the moment she accepted Narcissa as a patient.

Start over.

No, _truly_ start at the beginning with them, as she had with every other patient. She needed to scrub her mind of everything she knew about the Malfoys and start with a clean slate. Hermione could admit to herself that she was well outside of her depths when it came to them. She had no idea who they were and she knew she needed to go about learning them in a better, more productive way.

Only then would she learn without bias, and help Narcissa throughout the course of her illness—without harming or drawing any inference from one belief about them to another. No matter what Malfoy thought, she really _was_ treating the entire family. Giving them time. No matter how much he didn't want to be involved or said he didn't care, Malfoy would have to accept that his mother was _dying_ and there was nothing to be done about it.

It was inevitable.

But as her Healer, Hermione had tasked herself with caring for Narcissa and walking alongside them _all_ to help them through each phase… until the end.

She couldn't take that journey with them if she didn't know them.

Malfoy especially. Narcissa's only child. The one who would take her loss the hardest.

So, Hermione packed away all the assumptions, excavated her unconscious attitude, stepped back from all that she'd known, and was left with… nothing. Of course, she didn't completely delete it all—everything always had a way of making itself relevant again—but she wouldn't lean on those experiences, presumptions, and expectations to make decisions about her observations before she'd really given them some thought.

Feeling more optimistic, Hermione crossed the room to Malfoy's desk, with her bag in hand, ready to dig into research for light reading. But when she sat at his cluttered desk, she saw… well, _Draco Malfoy_.

Not just as an aggravating man, her old classmate and adversary, and Narcissa's only son…

But Hermione saw him as a father.

There, in a neat and simple frame—turned away from the room, for his eyes only—was a moving picture of him holding a newborn Scorpius with a look of confused wonder on his face that slowly transformed to a soft smile.

The photo was so intimate and _warm_ , so unlike who she knew him to be, that Hermione turned her head only to catch another photo. It had been taken recently—both father and son dressed in black bespoke suits, not smiling or touching or anything.

 _Cold_.

Hermione found it strange that such vastly different photos were displayed side by side on his desk hidden from view. Almost as if…

Not allowing herself to take _one more step_ in the direction of that thought, she abruptly stood and claimed a spot on his sofa. After rifling around in her bag for her research, Hermione immersed herself in her task. She needed to clear all the excess from her mind and focus on a task that called for her full attention.

Eventually, though, Hermione needed to spread her work out on the glass coffee table, so she did, making notes on the printed paper in pen and highlighting important bits that warranted further research.

In fact, she was so wrapped up in examining everything—flipping through article after article, comparing them to the books she'd brought along—that all of it nearly went airborne when the Floo flared to life and Draco Malfoy walked out as if he were stepping out of hell and back onto Earth.

 _Malfoy_ —no longer in glasses—was so surprised by her presence that it stopped him in his tracks, completely speechless.

His mouth opened then closed once. Just long enough for him to get his bearings.

Then his eyes darkened like the sky before a storm, and his hand flexed at his side. "What are you _doing_ in my office, Granger?"

Hermione _almost_ apologised, but she stopped herself.

Apologise for what?

Unconsciously, she sat up straighter, pushing her hair from her shoulder. Hermione met his cool glare with one of equal measure. "Your mother said I could work here while she hosted tea. She said you would be late, as always."

"Did she now," Malfoy intoned with a deep frown. His response was more of a statement than a question. "I happened to have left a roll of parchment here… for work."

That unique feeling of discomfort returned, creeping along her spine as she started gathering her papers together in a rushed pile, mixing things she'd wanted to keep separate. It didn't matter. A fleeting thought was given to the photos on his desk and _really_ , Hermione felt secretly guilty for invading what obviously was his private space.

"I can leave. I didn't mean to intrude."

"That won't be necessary." His words halted her move to depart. Hermione raised her attention to the wizard, noting the fact that Malfoy was _still_ standing there, _still_ watching her with scrutiny like she'd done something wrong when she had only followed instructions. "I'll have a conversation with my mother later."

"She didn't seem to think you'd mind."

But her argument in Narcissa's favour did nothing to appease him. "That's the problem right there, Granger." His voice was incredibly tight. " _She didn't think_."

Finally, he moved from his spot in front of the fireplace, crossing the room to his desk. Her eyes tracked his movement—watching, waiting in silent tension—as he picked up a roll of parchment off his desk.

Without turning around, he asked in a tone so deadly serious that she continued gathering her papers because _fuck this_. "Did you sit at my desk?"

Exactly how he knew, Hermione had no idea. She'd been careful to not touch anything. For a breath, she considered lying, but decided it was pointless to lie to someone who already knew the answer before asking the question.

"I did, but only for a second. Your desk didn't provide the space I needed, so I moved to the sofa."

Malfoy turned his head to her, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Contempt? "Did my office provide you with everything you needed to make your judgment of me?"

Setting her jaw, Hermione stood up with her papers in hand, fighting back the urge to respond in a way that would only escalate things. Because she _wanted_ to, but she knew it wouldn't do anyone any good. Not after the decision she'd just made.

Hermione stepped out from her spot in front of the sofa, having nothing to hide. "My _observation_ , Malfoy, is simple. I don't know the person you've become in the last thirteen years, that much is true, but the same goes for you." She took a step towards him, probing. "Perhaps I'm not the only one with preconceived notions."

His face changed with recognition. "Ah, so you admit it."

"Something about me that you don't know, Malfoy? I'm not scared to admit when I'm wrong." Hermione shrugged and when his expression slowly transformed to something akin to tightly focused bewilderment, she took a step forward. Then another. Watching him. "I've never claimed to be perfect, nor do I expect myself or anyone else to hold themselves to such an impossible challenge."

"That doesn't quite fit with your reputation as the _Brightest Witch of our Age_."

"My reputation may be that, but it's not exactly who I am; it's who others _think_ I am—" _Just like you aren't exactly your reputation_ , Hermione almost said. But she stopped herself. Backtracked. "I get angry and can be vindictive. I can be self-righteous and hypercritical. I have little shame in who I am, because that person is ever-evolving as I challenge myself to be better. Right now, I am challenging myself, not just as it pertains to your mother, but also as it pertains to you." She paused when Malfoy's brows drew together. "However, just as I have made assumptions about your family, _you_ have made them about me—"

"And yet, I feel there's more that you want to add." Malfoy folded his arm, leaning back on his cluttered desk. The mask of ease, even when his clenched fist spoke of his agitation.

"No addition. Only a perhaps." Hermione held up a finger and offered a metaphorical olive branch. "As in, _perhaps_ , in time, I hope that we might have a better, judgment-free understanding of one another."

Malfoy's cold glare and snide question was quintessentially him. "And _why_ would we do that, Granger?"

"Because we're _adults_ , not quarrelling children," she reminded him pointedly. "And because of your mother, I'll be a part of your life—in some respects—for the rest of _hers_. You might not like it, but it's—"

" _Fine_." He stared at her long and hard for several moments before he pushed off the desk. Two steps later and he was directly in front of her, speaking in a voice that kept her single-minded focus on him. "Speaking of the future, for _future_ reference, my office is off limits. To _everyone_."

Malfoy left the same way he came in.

* * *

Hermione stood in her living room after a long first day for a solid thirty minutes just blinking at nothing before she waved the proverbial white flag and called an emergency gathering.

On a Monday.

No matter. By the time Hermione arrived at the not so crowded pub in Hackney, no less than an hour after she'd sent off the request via Patronus, Parvati and Pansy were already there, sitting at a quieter table near the back. The former had the most obnoxious fruity pink drink waiting while the latter had four shots sitting in front of her. Hermione eyed them both sceptically before taking the seat between them. "I Apparated here, are you both trying to make me Splinch myself going home?" She examined one of the shot glasses full of clear liquid. "Is this—"

"Russian vodka? Yes. Two for you and two for me." Pansy grinned. "Have you eaten? I ordered Beef Wellington for you. Should be around soon."

"I haven't eaten since lunch." Which had included meeting Scorpius' young nanny who had delivered him for a meal with his grandmother, but didn't stick around. Narcissa hadn't returned from tea at that time so Hermione had spent ten long minutes locked in a staring match with a five-year-old.

He won.

She hadn't expected his presence for the meal, but he ate the chicken salad she'd given him without fuss—well, the lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. Scorpius carefully picked around the chicken. The fact that the opposite hadn't happened was strange, but it wasn't her place to give it much thought. Hermione left that bit to Narcissa who kept prodding him to eat the chicken when she arrived for lunch.

But he never did.

"In fairness to us," Parvati said from her left, "we didn't know what state you'd be in when you arrived. The last time you called an emergency outing on a Monday was when you had that one-off with Krum four years ago when he visited."

Hermione whipped her head around so fast she vaguely heard Pansy's " _What the fuck?"_ when the ends of her ponytail hit her in the face.

"First of all, I didn't shag him." She almost had, but had gotten cold feet. Vicktor had been good about it. Understanding. After all, they had been essentially penpals for years. It didn't seem like a good idea. "Second, how did you even know anything happened?"

Parvati gave her a sly look. "I put two and twelve together." When Hermione kept glaring and folded her arms, the witch's smile grew. "I'm a journalist. It's what I do. You went to dinner with him and after that, every time someone mentioned him, you'd just deflect." She leaned in close. "Was it terrible?"

"Pansy, tell her—" But when Hermione looked, she found the other witch waiting eagerly for an answer as well. So she rolled her eyes and deflected. "Who else is on their way?"

"Weasley will be late. She's delivering the kids to the Burrow because Potter's working late and Luna's coming. Daphne is working, Padma and Susan are still at the hospital." Suddenly, Parvati remembered something. "Pansy, weren't you supposed to invite Cho?"

"Oops, I forgot." Pansy covered her mouth with a fake gasp. "What a shame. Such a pity."

Hermione snorted while Parvati rolled her eyes before sweeping her long wavy curls over her shoulders. "So why did you call the emergency dinner?"

"Simple. Today was my first day with Narcissa Malfoy." At that statement, Pansy perked up.

Meanwhile, Parvati cringed. "You should start off with the Russian vodka."

"How did it go?" Pansy asked.

"As well as it could. There's the part where Malfoy is—"

"Oh fuck, you've seen him?" Parvati squealed and clapped her hands as she bounced in her seat, garnering attention from the man at the bar who eyed her appreciatively. "He's fit as fuck, yeah?" Parvati nudged her in the shoulder. "I need _all_ the details."

Pansy looked as though she were struggling to keep her comments to herself. It probably took every shred of effort, but she remained quiet.

"All the details fall under the Patient-Healer Confidentiality Agreem—"

"Not your job, _him!_ Was he not as climbable as I said?"

"That's quite _literally_ not the point, Parvati."

Pansy nudged one of the shot glasses in her direction and Hermione drank it in one go, bearing the burn with a tight grimace. She'd never been one for hard liquor.

Today it was warranted.

"Malfoy was a bit intense." An understatement, really. There were natural disasters less intense than him. Parvati sipped on the fruity monstrosity while paying close attention. Hermione rubbed the side of her neck. "I don't remember him being like that. A tosser, yes, but he's—"

"You weren't the only one changed by life and circumstances, Granger. I think it's safe to say Draco has a lot to contend with, in addition to the heavy weight of responsibilities and expectations being piled on him."

And the fact that Pansy had so much respect for the person primarily responsible was baffling, but _that_ topic Hermione would have to approach at a better time.

"We all have different ways that we cope. Draco's is to bear it in silence, completely alone."

"That's not coping, that's avoiding."

"That's Draco."

There was a sigh to her right that sounded like an infatuated schoolgirl. "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown… or whatever Padma says whenever she's feeling maudlin." Parvati snapped her fingers, cursing herself. "Damn, I should have used that line for his feature!"

Hermione rolled her eyes as Pansy tossed back the second shot. If she felt the burn, she didn't show it. "Nice quote, but Draco is no king."

No, he was just one man.

_The greatest wisdom is seeing through appearances._   
**Atisa**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, helloooooo and Happy Friday the 13th. Thanks to my beta dreamsofdramione for cutting my wordiness. And my alpha reader for being awesome, especially when I want to add an entire scene in the 11th hour. Hope everyone is staying safe. I like to call this chapter the clash and reassessment. I loved writing Draco here and being the first person to truly make Hermione go, well shit. I'm wrong. Her ability to reassess (or begin the process of doing that) is something I feel she is capable of doing in this universe and as a character as a whole. Now is it going to be a 180 turnaround? No, because people don't do that. Will she still be judgmental? Sure at times, because as much as we try, we can't always be 100% when we're trying to change. Anyway, I adooooooore writing Scorpius. There's so much more of him to come. As well as Narcissa. The next chapter, there is a small time jump. :)
> 
> In other news, Happy Birthday to my beta! She's so fabulous that I wrote her a short fic called _Singularity._ Enjoy.


	7. The Art of Compromise

**  
Seven  
** _The Art of Compromise  
_

_**May 11, 2011** _

Time passed like it always did: slowly, surreally, yet in a rush. A complete contradiction. A constant presence that was never static…

Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and before Hermione knew it, four weeks had passed since she'd begun caring for Narcissa. Yet, despite four weeks worth of work, she found herself right back where everything had started:

Sitting in Theo's office.

Now, though, it was for her first status meeting. This was not something Hermione had done with every patient, but this assignment warranted the appointment that appeared in her magi-scheduler that morning.

Today, they sat on the sofa instead of his desk and Theo sipped lemon ginger green tea—his first cup—while Hermione had just poured herself a third. His eyebrow quirked, but he wisely remained quiet. The silence felt foreboding, the proverbial calm before the storm.

Hermione was ready to drown them both in the sheer volume of words she needed to say.

Twenty-six minutes wouldn't be enough.

Theo must have felt her glare, must have heard her mental diatribe in the silence, because he was mere moments from taking another sip when he sighed like Hermione's mere energy had disrupted his peace. He placed his teacup on the glass table, which made Hermione practically gulp hers down, ignoring the burning of both the hot water and ginger.

Her agitation burned hotter anyway.

Not that she didn't try to hide it.

Her mood was a disagreeable companion that had followed her for _weeks_ , a shadow that grew longer and more distorted as the days went on.

Before it overtook them both, Theo cut to the chase. "How have the first thirty days of your latest assignment been?" The question was followed by an almost wincing pause. "Feel free to be honest."

"I quit."

Theo had no reaction. "You don't mean that."

"I don't, but I feel better now that I've said it out loud instead of in my head."

Three hundred and nineteen times over the last thirty days… for a myriad of reasons.

His expression spoke of his experience dealing with her, his voice as calm and neutral as his posture. It reminded Hermione of how she spoke to a patient when she needed to earn their trust. Theo had the _gall_ to look handsome in his sincerity.

"Talk to me, Hermione."

It made her scoff. _Loudly_. "You sound like my therapist."

Theo made a noncommittal noise as he casually leaned back on the sofa, legs crossed, making himself comfortable. Hermione really hated the sight he made in burgundy trousers, almost as much as she hated the continued sentiment of his next words. "I was hoping to sound like a friend."

"A _friend_ wouldn't have sent me into battle with the wrong weapon. You gave me a butter knife when I needed a blowtorch. And an _army_."

For all his posturing, he didn't look the least bit apologetic. Instead, he looked interested, far more than usual. "I've not seen you this rattled before… _Intriguing_."

"Are you _serious?_ This isn't the time for one of your little tests."

"I don't test you for my own amusement, it's mainly for your self-improvement." That made her argument fall limp before the finish line. "You're excellent at your job, but I've wanted to pull you from your comfort zone for quite some time now. I've also always wondered what an immovable force and an unstoppable object meeting would actually look like. I didn't think it would happen quite like it has. Hmm, apparently I'm overdue for a surprise."

"Not the time, Theo."

"I don't feel you entered into this with reasonable expectations for yourself." He spoke slowly despite the metaphorical steam coming from her ears, lacing his fingers together. "Did you think it would be so simple?"

Hermione opened her mouth once, twice, but nothing came out, then a third for good measure before shutting it for lack of a complete answer. No? But also yes? Slightly?

Okay, _perhaps_ she'd taken an arrogant approach to the assignment.

Recollection brought her past thoughts of keeping out the storm into sharper focus. Her high hopes of figuring out a balance with Narcissa, a possible alliance with Malfoy regarding her future safety plans and preparation, and the possible levelling of her symptoms. She was no closer to any of those goals now than she had been a month prior. Hermione knew she needed a different plan. She had to drift closer, but doing so risked her ability to remain disconnected and neutral. It would test her ability to not speak her peace about every aspect of Narcissa's life that didn't involve her direct care.

The problems she'd seen.

The growing flames…

The fire-warped pieces of Narcissa's life made Hermione uncomfortable, but it wasn't her job to fix them. It was Narcissa's job to use the time she was given wisely. Dramatic changes weren't completely unthinkable, but as a thirty-day objective with a family like the Malfoys? Her goals had been impossible at best. And now that Hermione had time to think, she realised her frustration had less to do with the source of her discontent, and more to do with the fact that she hadn't made much progress—on _any_ front.

The Malfoys were still a secretly broken family at the top echelon of a society that praised them for their unity during the most difficult times.

Ironic, but mostly tragic.

"The situation is… complicated, I'm aware. As is the family, which I'm sure you've discovered by now."

" _Complicated_?" Hermione balked. "They're _painful_. Malfoy is… I have no idea. I'm pretty certain _I_ see him more than anyone." Theo's brow lifted in silent query, but Hermione had no response that didn't involve a full-fledged shrug. Malfoy left before either his mother or Scorpius came down and was still gone when Hermione departed each evening. Hermione put little thought into that and forged on. "Narcissa's results have also been strange from the start."

"So I've seen from what you sent over."

He'd had time to look?

"Yes, she declines sharply in the evenings and overnights are awful. Her sleeping patterns have deteriorated. She's agitated and is beginning to have spells where she wanders to different parts of the house and doesn't remember how she got there. From my understanding, she hardly sleeps, just tosses and turns, which makes her irritable during the day. More than she already is. If she yells at Scorpius' nanny one more time, the poor girl will either cry or quit… maybe _both_."

"She was… extremely temperamental at dinner with Pansy, Draco, and I last week." Theo's wince didn't go unnoticed. "Which was why I asked to see her results and your notes thus far."

"Find anything worth mentioning? Anything I haven't already analysed to death?"

"No, but I sent a copy over to Charles Smith in Boston. He says you two have been discussing her case for the last month or so. Is that correct?"

Yes, they had.

In addition to Narcissa's attitude—as well as her symptoms—her episodes of blankness and tremours had not decreased like they should have under her new potions regime. Nothing had increased either, which was only the silver lining. And while there had been several incidents where Narcissa had forgotten her and everyone else, there had only been one incident of accidental magic, when she had Apparated across the room.

To everyone's relief, no Splinching had occurred, but it made Hermione desperate to figure out the root cause of her issues. "Have you heard back from him?"

"I've scheduled time to discuss it with him tomorrow, should you want to attend…" He gave her a look that bordered on amusement. "That is, if you haven't yet quit."

Hermione cut her eyes at him. "I _absolutely_ would like to be on the call. Regardless of how I feel, I intend to see this through. There have just been… growing pains." _To say the least._

Hermione strived for progression with her work, not regression.

The potions should have worked. Narcissa's symptoms should have curbed, and she should have levelled off by now. The fact that they hadn't was a sign that Hermione was missing something important.

And that simply would not do.

"And Scorpius?"

It was an odd question since they had just been discussing Narcissa, but she supposed he would want to know about his godson. Narcissa brought him by to see Theo weekly for visits, but that was all she knew. "What about him?"

"Merely a question. I don't get much time to see him."

"He's…" At the curious tilt of Theo's head, she had a moment of honesty. "I've honestly never met a child like him."

She doubted she ever would.

Scorpius lived by a routine so unwaveringly strict Hermione could tell time by his entrances and exits. He was keenly observant, more so than even _she'd_ realised. He watched and waited and _listened_ to everything and everyone around him, hyper-focused and almost anxious in a way that made Hermione vastly uncomfortable to even speak around him.

There were many things she had observed, things she had yet to piece together, but the main difference between Scorpius and every child Hermione had known was simple:

He didn't appear to know any better.

He was so detached that Narcissa's treatment of him didn't seem to register as anything except normal. So affection-starved that he would preen at each moment of kindness, no matter how small or mundane. So _lonely_ it was almost painful to watch him day in and day out. And the worst part was the _sadness_ just under the surface of each of his actions.

It was indescribable, chilling, and unmistakable… yet not acknowledged— _by anyone._

There must have been something open about her expression, honest even. It hadn't been intentional, but it made Theo heave a sigh. "You've seen it then."

"What?"

"His misery."

Theo's voice was low with a terribly penetrating power that made Hermione suck in a breath as she scrubbed a hand over her face. She tried to fight the growing feelings of unease with what was undoubtedly her best weapon: pure logic.

"He's not my patient." She watched Theo's look deepen into something harder and more intense, probing, until Hermione allowed her eyes to slide towards the door with the quiet hope that someone would interrupt.

But no one did.

"Per my own rules and conditions, the only way I can do this job effectively is if I remain detached, unaffected, and objective. I am trying hard to do just that." She turned accusatory eyes on him. "If _you've_ seen it, then _you_ do something about it."

"I've tried. I'm _trying_." It was probably the most emotional she had heard him, which stunned her into perfect silence. "Narcissa thinks she is doing the right thing and Draco is…"

Theo never finished. He didn't need to. She knew the answer: Malfoy was never there. Hermione had some idea from her conversation with Daphne back in March, right before she'd found herself in the middle of the hurricane that was the Malfoys. Knowing what she knew now, she wished she would have paid more attention, not just to her friend's words but to the sheer magnitude of the impending storm.

She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, and focused on Theo as fragments of thoughts and ideas gathered together. The more Hermione pondered over it, the more everything made sense. The more the pieces fit. The picture became clearer.

The assignment request. The personal nature of Theo's involvement. Yes, it had to do with Narcissa and Malfoy, but the key to unlocking the man before her was small and at the mercy of the adults in his life.

"It's Scorpius, isn't it? The reason you're so invested in her care, I mean."

His face cooled into his default visage of powerful omniscience, but Hermione knew she had read him correctly. Theo uncrossed his legs and picked up his still-steaming teacup, taking a long drink to finish it out before placing the empty cup back on the table. "He is my godson. Draco and I have known each other since childhood."

Now that she understood better, Hermione was able to pick on the subtleties in his careful wielding of words. " _Known,_ you say, but you weren't friends. Or, at least, _I_ don't remember you being close." He wasn't being completely truthful. "Malfoy is—"

"Not the same as he was."

"I know."

That much had been obvious since before he'd first said her name.

While his mother had been the cause of Hermione's mounting frustration, and the reason for her late nights of books and research and transatlantic Floo calls, Draco Malfoy had become the source of her endless questions and curiosity. He was a confusing presence. Despite seeing him every morning, as she prepared breakfast and he worked diligently on both his crossword puzzle and paper, Hermione couldn't determine which version of him was real and which one was for display—a facade he wore to remind her (and everyone else) who he was supposed to be.

A massive prat.

Theo cleared his throat. "You can't understand the son without understanding the father."

Hermione wasn't trying to do _either_ outside the scope of her job. The son was—well, that was a slippery slope indeed. And the father was… someone that didn't fit the realm of her current comprehension. "I'm _trying_ to remain impartial, Theo. I only wish to understand him enough to secure his cooperation. That's really all I need."

A wry chuckle escaped Theo's lips. "Tell me then, how are your attempts working for you?"

Hermione wasn't exactly certain how to answer that question.

Malfoy hadn't spoken to her much after their first face-off in the kitchen (then his office), which had been expected. But that didn't stop Hermione from greeting him each morning and trying to start a conversation. Initially, they had been sincere attempts to try and earn his cooperation, and maybe figure out the reason behind the rift—after all, he was _always_ there when she arrived. Then, after days of little success, it shifted into speaking to him out of sheer stubbornness and growing curiosity about a man who completed puzzles with a pen, didn't seem to sleep much (given his long hours), but still made sure he left a note for Scorpius each day. His actions were nothing short of perplexing, to say the least. Draco Malfoy was a man who went about his day so deliberately it seemed like he was purposefully avoiding his family.

_His problems._

Malfoy was like a cliff on the edge of the sea, meeting each crashing wave of her attempts at gathering information with silence stronger than a rock face, scrutinising looks, and strange facial expressions she didn't know him well enough to identify.

But that randomly changed on a Tuesday—eight days into her assignment.

Malfoy hadn't been there when she'd arrived. Uncommon, but not too strange. The minutes had ticked on. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty minutes passed before he had rushed in with no paper or crossword. His tie had been undone, hair barely dry. Hermione had been in the middle of making breakfast, but quickly was able to gather that he'd lost track of time while swimming in the pool Hermione _still_ hadn't seen.

He had been uncharacteristically flustered and disorganised, swearing about how nothing was where it belonged, his schedule—and possibly day—in ruins. Hermione related so much that her reaction had been instinct.

She stopped what she was doing and helped, fixing his tie with a flick of her wand and packing breakfast and tea for him before sending him on his way. Malfoy had been halfway out the door when they both suddenly realised what the _hell_ had just transpired.

Malfoy had surprised her with just two words before he left:

_Thank you._

After that, Hermione couldn't say things were good, but he stopped completely ignoring her presence and started engaging, in his own frustrating way, by answering her questions with terse responses of his own.

One sentence.

Then two.

Theo interrupted her reverie. "You didn't answer the question."

"Hm?" Hermione had been so caught up analysing Malfoy's every move for the umpteenth time that she'd forgotten what Theo had said. Backtracking, she cleared her throat. "Oh, yes. Well, I'm not certain how to answer it. I can't say that my attempts are working at all, truth be told, but Malfoy's spoken to me a few times in the last couple of weeks."

Somewhat.

Sort of.

Conversation had been stilted and slightly weird, firmly rooted in extremely mundane subjects that carried no risk. Malfoy never initiated these engagements, only responded, and Hermione found herself initially attempting to tailor her attempts at conversation to things he might enjoy. Quidditch had been her first attempt, but Malfoy had struck that topic down.

" _You don't care for Quidditch. Don't waste my time. Or yours."_

So, Hermione hadn't.

Instead, she'd taken one look at his paper and mentioned the ineptitude of reporting in the front-page article about yet another Ministry achievement, calling it the " _the embodiment of propaganda."_ When Malfoy hummed his agreement, she'd found herself intrigued.

In the days that had followed, Hermione picked topics that were easy to gather from the parts of the paper she could see:

The debate regarding the removal of the Statute of Secrecy.

His response: " _Never going to happen. Also idiotic."_

Lowering the age of the removal of The Trace to sixteen.

His response: " _I would argue raising it."_

An article noting the rise of sales on defensive items following the Death Eater attack in March.

His response: " _Potter hasn't given up his belief that Mathers is alive. He's probably dead."_

But when Hermione had voiced her opinion about the possibility of a third wizarding war, Malfoy's response had been the first complete one yet.

" _Those with the most power don't want peace. There's no profit in it. Peace would also level out the balance of power and turn the public's attention to the things that matter, such as why the Wizengamot has not restored power to the Minister after the agreed upon ten years."_

It had been such a true and perceptive statement that it had left her momentarily speechless.

It made Hermione curious, made her want to poke and pick his mind for whatever gems she could find. _Thoughts. Opinions. Ideas. Observations._

After that morning, their dialogues had morphed into chats that became less about what she could find out and more about his thoughts on various topics. They began to do nothing more than just talk for the sake of it.

Which was… unexpected, to say the least.

Each conversation was like opening a different box, and Hermione never knew what was going to be on the inside. She knew she had the option _not_ to open it, but she did so anyway.

Magical theory. History. Arithmancy. Charms. Malfoy picked her brain about the fact that she brewed potions, and she discovered his quiet passion for the subject after a lengthy argument about copper cauldrons versus brass for brewing Dreamless Sleep. And when he started bringing up Muggle topics—Literature, Science Fiction, Physics—Hermione pretended not to look surprised.

But she was.

Some days were like pulling teeth. Others were easier. He would mostly engage, showing hints of something more than apathy—until he'd inevitably realise what he was doing and shut back down. But, for the most part, Malfoy argued down each of her points and rose up to challenge every statement.

He didn't always win.

But neither did she.

And that was… _different_ , oddly refreshing, but baffling nonetheless.

Conversation was more than a sum of words, more than communication and the exchange of information. Hermione always found it easier to understand and relate to people when she just _talked_ to them, but with Malfoy…?

Not so much.

Each conversation left her more puzzled than before, less about his interests and opinions, and more about the ins and outs of _who_ he was.

His identity.

* * *

_**May 13, 2011** _

When it came to paranoia, there was only one rule: it couldn't be considered paranoia if it was real.

Hermione reminded herself of this yet again when she stepped out of the Floo Bank in the Ministry on a busy Wednesday afternoon, walking alongside other people into the bustling Atrium. While true visitors drifted to the sides for their wands to be checked, Hermione continued on with the general flow, feeling eyes on her all the while.

In most cases, they only looked because she was famous and rarely seen in public, but Harry's private Floo hadn't worked since he'd become Head of the Auror's Office, and no other Floo was open for her access. So, there she was. A face in the crowd.

In most cases, like the two workers sitting at the fountain who suddenly stopped talking to each other in favour of staring at her before whispering again, the watching had been curiosity, the result of the rumours surrounding her departure from the Ministry. Or maybe the sprinkle of rumours that had followed ever since, each more absurd than the last.

But in _one_ case, she knew, it was more than that.

The wizard who watched her had been lying in wait in the Atrium, and suddenly realised he needed to walk directly behind her. He had been tracking her comings and goings since the Ministry had started sending her job offers three years ago, following her as she went, surely reporting her every move inside the Ministry's walls.

Naturally, Hermione had been aware of his presence, and he knew it, too.

It was complicated at best, but felt like a game.

Well, a game she didn't know the rules of and without a clear objective. She had no idea why they were even playing it.

When her watcher stepped into the empty space next to her in the queue for the lift, she spoke without looking because she already knew who she was going to see. "McLaggen, I'm just having lunch with Harry. What threat do I specifically pose to need you as an escort?"

"Technically, since you don't work for the Ministry, you shouldn't be roaming on your own. Especially since you didn't check your wand when you entered. My uncle grows more and more restless about the moves being made to unseat him. Your presence would only add to his distress. I am merely—"

"Wasting your words on a topic I don't care about."

"Funny, my uncle seems to think you know about the movement somehow. Maybe you're involved, maybe you're not. All I know is that he's beginning to question people."

Hermione stored that knowledge away for later. "This feels familiar."

"Familiar how?"

"Like the history we're about to repeat unless things change."

"If you decided to return, pledge your allegiance to the Ministry—"

"You mean to _him_? No thanks," Hermione interjected with a flippant twist of her wrist. "Tyrants come in many forms and wear many different masks… or ornate robes, should I say." Her words likely went right over Cormac's head. "Not only am I not willing to pledge my allegiance to any man, but I'm also not searching for a change in career. I'm happy where I am."

Cormac made a small, curt noise. Dismissive. In his head, he always thought he knew better than anyone. "I'd believe you more if I knew you less."

"You don't know me at all." She kept her public mask on effortlessly and kept the irritation that accompanied his presence out of her voice. It would only egg him on and draw more stares than necessary.

The next lift arrived and the queue for it moved, but there still wasn't enough space for her to squeeze on and get away from him. Hermione looked around, searching for a familiar face for the company, but saw none.

With an internal sigh, she turned, observing the wizard who hadn't changed much in appearance since Hogwarts. Cormac was still broad and muscular in a way that fit his frame nicely. He still had strong features and a smile could be charming, and his dark blonde curls were still tamed in a way that most witches would consider flattering. Today, instead of his normal neutral colours, he wore plum trousers and a white dress shirt with expensive-looking cufflinks. Robes displaying his high position in the Wizengamot Administration Services were draped over his arm.

Unfortunately, all that glittered wasn't gold.

It really was a shame that Cormac hadn't grown past his aggressive and arrogant nature.

Cormac's shoulder brushed hers, and his voice dropped low for her ears only. "I happen to know women like you _very_ well. I can show you how well over—"

Hermione cut him off with a single, pointed glare. "Do you lurk every day in hopes that I'll turn up at the Ministry, or do you have an _actual_ career?"

"Oh, Hermione." He said her name in a pretentious way she didn't especially appreciate. She also didn't appreciate the fact that, for the second time, his shoulder brushed hers. It meant that he was standing far too close for comfort. "Surely you're aware that I'm set to inherit my uncle's seat on the Wizengamot when he's ousted."

_When._

Cormac knew something was changing, too.

The timing of Tiberius McLaggen's appointment to the Wizengamot wasn't important, all that mattered was what had happened in the years since he'd become Chief Warlock. After buying nearly every business in Diagon Alley from desperate owners just looking to survive, he—out of the _kindness of his own heart, of course_ —turned around and allowed those business owners to rent the stores they'd previously owned for a percentage of their annual sales.

It was undoubtedly helpful in the couple of years after the war, when some shops went days without a single patron and people were still too afraid to return to the normalcy of things like shopping trips and expenditures that weren't strictly necessary.

The questionable actions came when, after his appointment as Chief Warlock, he pushed through the major rehabilitation project that poured _millions_ of Ministry Galleons into rebuilding wizarding businesses… in Diagon Alley. As businesses recovered and sales picked up, so did their rent.

Tiberius McLaggen had made _millions_. Anyone that challenged their rental agreement was quickly shut down. Percy had been quietly checking into the legality of the agreements with his tenants, but he'd run into obstacles. No one who had been privy to Tiberius' unforgiving nature had been eager to cooperate for fear of losing what they'd worked so hard for without a fair fight. Even now, gathering information was a slow process.

Much like Percy's pet project.

While not every member of the Wizengamot was as corrupt as the Chief Warlock, there were just enough members who liked the perks of the current status quo to keep any true change at bay. In her eyes, they were no better than the ones whose vaults were amassing the unethical Galleons.

The lift arrived before she said anything else and they filed on with the others. She took a spot in front of Cormac, fully prepared to ignore him like the pest he was. In enclosed spaces, it was habit for her to observe her surroundings, and when she did just that, her eyes fell on a familiar white-blond head in the front corner by the button panel.

_Malfoy._

She hadn't seen him in the Atrium when she'd looked around. In fact, Hermione barely had a chance to wonder if he'd even seen _her_ when her gaze was pulled to the open gates as one more wizard decided to squeeze on rather than wait for the next lift.

Everyone shifted to accommodate the final passenger.

The wizard in front of her shuffled backwards, putting himself too close for her comfort. Automatically, Hermione tried to move out of his way, but found her back pressed against Cormac's broad chest. It was instinctive to apologise, but she stopped herself before she could.

Best if she didn't acknowledge him or their current state.

Not that it mattered. It was Cormac McLaggen, after all.

It wasn't like him to ignore a perfect opportunity.

Despite the lack of space on the now moving lift, he was able to lower his head, whispering into her temple in a voice predatory, "If I were you, Hermione…" His hand ghosted up her arm to push her hair off her shoulder. She tensed, hackles rising until it felt as though all her muscles were perpetually tensed. "I would endear yourself to me so that I'll remember you when I'm in my new position."

"If you touch me _one_ more time, McLaggen, I'll become the scariest thing you've ever seen." Her voice was low, serious enough to make him back off ever so slightly.

But he kept his head exactly where it was so he could speak to her without anyone noticing—or hearing him. "Still so _feisty_. I've always admired that about you."

"And _you're_ still an arrogant bastard who will be doing the Wizengamot's legwork for the rest of your miserable life."

"I don't see following a beautiful woman around on scheduled visits for lunch with her best friend as a particular hardship." Cormac's voice dropped even lower as he whispered. "More like _my pleasure_."

"This is why you can't keep a wife." His second divorce was playing out nastily in the papers, at least according to the ones she'd lined her chicken coop with last week.

"Third time's a charm."

Before Hermione could verbalise her absolute disgust or turn around and club him over the head with her beaded bag, the doors opened and a few Ministry employees filed out, still absorbed in getting to their destination as quickly as possible. It wasn't the floor where Harry's office was located, but at least with only one man entering the lift, there was now enough space for her to step away from Cormac without bumping into anyone else.

She reached for the strap above her head in preparation for the lift to begin moving, then glared daggers at Cormac, who remained in his spot against the back wall. Watching her. Waiting. Like a lion on the prowl. Hermione ignored him in favour of glancing around the still crowded lift, but now she had a clear visual of Malfoy, who regarded her with an odd, indecipherable expression as the lift began moving again.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen him that day, but she had no basis to rate their interaction that morning when Malfoy had asked for a cup of whatever tea she had been drinking—a fruity mint mixture she'd concocted for Narcissa. Something that, in theory, he should hate, but he drank the mix with a passive look and zero complaints. Hermione had been left unable to discern if he liked it or not.

The front page this morning had been around the Death Eater sightings in Wales.

Hermione had asked a standard question: " _Does the Task Force and the Auror's Office have enough to properly investigate?"_

But his reply had been different, layered with complexities she didn't understand. " _Not particularly, Potter has a spare team that has just arrived back from an assignment that he'll be forced to send. I just returned this morning actually and will be taking a Portkey back this evening to return, once again, the following morning."_

She hadn't been able to stop her next question. " _Do you sleep?"_

And that had promptly ended their conversation.

Now the fact that he was looking between her and Cormac in that probing way of his was all the stranger. As far as Hermione was concerned, the extent of his curiosity with her began and ended with why she'd taken on his mother as a patient. He'd reserved his other feelings for being highly irritated when she looked on while he worked on his crossword.

 _Finally_ , the doors to the lift opened on Harry's floor and a few more people filed out. And if Hermione whispered a Trip Jinx that left Cormac a sprawled mess on the floor of the lift… well, that was between her and anyone who noticed. The gates shut and the lift left with Cormac yelling something on his way to whichever floor the lift would stop at next.

Feeling proud of herself, and with a smile on her face, Hermione took two steps in the direction of Harry's office, then remembered that someone _had_ noticed. And that someone happened to have longer legs, which allowed him to fall in step alongside her with relative ease.

"Lover's quarrel?" Malfoy's voice was so dry and posh it made Hermione's hair stand on end.

Along with her nerves.

"Excuse me?" She looked at him in confusion.

"McLaggen." He said it so blandly it was as if Hermione should have already known what he was talking about. His face was drawn in an expression that fell somewhere between grudgingly curious and outright annoyed—two emotions that didn't even belong on the same scale. "I saw you two on the—"

" _That_ pompous wanker is not—I repeat, _not_ —my lover in _any_ definition of the word." She seethed with such strong vehemence she nearly missed the tiny stutter in his step. "Cormac wouldn't know how to love anyone other than himself if someone gave him a map and a guide."

There was a short pause before Malfoy said, "Ah, well, excuse me." He then calmly turned and went in the opposite direction.

Unspeakably baffled, Hermione stood and watched him stalk around the corner before vanishing from sight. "What the hell…"

She shook it all off, chalked it up to him being _Malfoy_ , and followed the path into the controlled chaos of the ever-busy Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Pointedly ignoring the eyes and whispers that followed her presence, Hermione forced herself not to look down until she found herself at the door to the Auror's Division.

Greeted by a nearly empty office, she guessed most Aurors were on assignment or lunch at that part of the day. Only a handful were at their desks doing paperwork, not paying attention to the new person in the room.

The only person who paid her any mind was the secretary, Deloris, an older witch with greying black hair who always wore purple robes. "Miss Granger, it's lovely to see you."

Deloris was like the mother of this branch of the DMLE. She brought a meal for everyone at least once a week and even baked cookies every Friday. Like most secretaries, she knew everything that happened in the Ministry, all the rumours, both significant and dull. Hermione had told Harry when he'd been appointed Head Auror that he should always stop and listen to anything she had to say, including the latest gossip.

It was likely more informative than the Prophet.

She'd been the office secretary longer than Harry had been alive, but she'd told Hermione last month that she still believed he did a better job than any of his predecessors, even without the current circumstances.

"Lovely to see you as well, Deloris."

"How's your gardening, love?"

"By next visit, I should have strawberries, gooseberries, peas, broad beans, and more for you."

"Oh, that sounds lovely. Can't wait. Make sure to bring extras so I can make you some jam."

Deloris made the best jam. Last summer, she'd brought Hermione several jars from the extra fruit she'd given her—she and Al had only eaten toast and their jam of the day for breakfast during his visits for months. Hermione was already looking forward to this year.

"I can't wait. Oh!" She opened her beaded bag, and reached deep until she found what she was looking for. "I brought you more salve for your husband's knee and your pain potion, as well."

Harry had found out a few years after joining the Auror Department that Deloris had been hit with a dark spell while protecting her Muggle-born husband from Snatchers during the war. St Mungo's hadn't been much help outside of healing the immediate damage, which had led to years of her suffering in silence. Harry had asked for Hermione's help after years of her not being able to find any respite through conventional methods, of course, she'd agreed. After research and a few failures, she'd found success in an obscure plant that helped boost the potency of the regular pain potion. Deloris only needed one drop.

Hermione handed the witch the vial and a tin canister of salve.

"Thank you so much." Deloris graciously accepted her offerings. "You really should let me pay you—"

Hermione shook her head. That wasn't why she did it. "It's no trouble at all. Keep looking out for Harry, that's all I ask." Speaking of her best friend… "Is he busy?" Hermione asked the witch with a kind smile.

"He's just returned from his meeting with Hestia and Mr Malfoy regarding the canvassing team they need for that unfortunate bit happening in Wales." The one Malfoy was spending his nights coordinating while working days here. Her question about his sleep habits had been valid. "He's also tied up with staffing for the raid that no one is talking about."

The two women exchanged knowing looks and matching eyerolls. Hermione was more worried about the almost open secret getting too far out and failing, but didn't share those concerns with Deloris. "Has Harry eaten?"

"No, even though I told him he should. He's had an incredibly busy day, and his afternoon is completely booked. He has another private meeting with Mr Malfoy in fifteen minutes."

Ah, one of their strategy meetings.

"I've brought him lunch." She held up her beaded bag. "Is he doing anything right now?"

"Paperwork." The witch made a face that spoke of her empathy.

"Ah, the bane of his existence."

Deloris smirked. "Too right you are."

"Better go save him then."

The older witch grinned, shooing her along. Hermione gave her a fond look before walking past her desk, and knocking on the closed office door with Harry's name and title etched in the gold plaque. The heavy door opened with a creak that Magical Maintenance had yet to fix. Hermione entered, allowing the noisy door to shut behind her.

Harry's office, as always, was a minimalistic mess. She never could figure out how that was possible, but it was. He didn't have much: a few books, important keepsakes, and framed pictures of Ginny and the children on his desk. Nothing on the walls. Simple. In the corner was a rack of hangers with jackets and robes on them.

The newest addition was a table in the centre of the room with what looked like a map covered in different coloured pins strategically spread across the full length of it.

Even with few things, though Harry's was a perpetual mess. Nothing was ever organised, and he had a ton of paperwork stacked on his desk at any given time. She spotted her best friend sitting behind a mountain of parchment, scratching away at something she couldn't see.

"How can I help you?" Harry asked without looking up.

"Well, I'm looking for my best friend, who happens to be The Chosen One—"

He looked up then rolled his eyes, laughing before glancing at his gold watch as Hermione crossed the room to sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"Blimey, is it one already?"

She placed her beaded bag on the desk and opened it up, pulling out a simple lunch of roasted chicken sandwiches stuffed with tomatoes, cheese, cucumbers, and romaine lettuce. Hermione made sure to pack some oven-roasted potato wedges along with a couple of cold cans of Vimtos— blackcurrant because that was their favourite.

"Yes, I just finished with Narcissa's lunch potions and she's overseeing her grandson's lessons." _More like making suggestions and lesson plan changes._

She'd be tied up at least until dinner, when she was sure to sharply decline, get irritable. Narcissa could be downright mean towards Scorpius' nanny, who was understandably stressed at all times. His tutor wasn't much better, but he generally stayed in Narcissa's good graces as he was the sort of traditionalist she respected.

Harry moved the parchment aside, giving her and their lunch his full attention. "How is _that_ going?"

"Interesting. They're… _a lot_. Different from how I expected."

"How so?" His interest was clearly piqued.

Hermione let out a breath that turned into a chuckle as she made a series of exaggerated hand gestures to emphasise each word. "I can't _possibly_ list it all during the fifteen minutes I have between now and your strategy meeting with Malfoy. We'll have to talk about it at another time." At his nod and Harry-esque soft smile, Hermione opened her container and pulled out forks for them to use on the potatoes. "I can't speak much about her treatment, but I can tell you that she's probably the most infuriating patient I've ever had."

"She's your Draco Malfoy, then."

"I suppose so. I often forget she's even sick." Until the evenings and nights remind her. Hermione pursed her lips, deep in thought. "Ever felt like you were missing something that was staring you in the face?"

"All the time."

Hermione chuckled. "That's how I feel about Narcissa's treatment. The nights are rough to the point where I've considered staying."

"At Malfoy's house?"

"Yes, just until I figure out what's wrong with her evening potions."

"Well, you won't have to worry about Malfoy much. He'll be in Wales coordinating the sweep where the Death Eaters were spotted. He thinks there may be a hideout nearby."

She stabbed one of the potatoes with her fork and brought it to her mouth while Harry started at his sandwich. "Does he actually sleep?"

"How should _I_ know? I imagine he gets _some_ sort of sleep. Has to or he'd be more insufferable than he already is." That seemed doubtful based on hard evidence that pointed to the opposite. Perhaps he was— "Enough about him. I'll be _seeing_ him soon enough." A quick frown expressed his distaste, but it was followed by a wiggling of his eyebrows. "Have you had any interesting conversations with his mother lately?"

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione's pensive expression morphed into a grin. "She hasn't said anything particularly rude since she tried to give me _advice_." She emphasised the last word with air quotes, her fork still in hand. Harry laughed almost as hard as he had the first time that she'd told him the story. "She's been busy with society activities and her grandson's lessons. We haven't had a chance to speak much… well, outside of her complaints about each meal before she takes a bite and finds it _remarkably palatable_ ," Hermione mocked in a poor imitation of Narcissa's voice.

"Sounds like a compliment to me."

"Honestly it's the closest I might ever get." Hermione snickered. "She'd rather walk on the surface of the sun than admit she likes my primitive cooking."

Snorting in response, Harry took a sip of his drink and shook his head. "And before he gets here. What about Malfoy? Is he the model son? Does he call you incompetent and argue about the best way to care for his mother because surely only _he_ knows best?"

Wincing, Hermione recalled the abrupt way he'd left her outside the lift. "Actually… no."

Malfoy was incredibly hard to pin down. Distrustful and private, aloof and sarcastic, astute and defensive. He was more perceptive of the world around him than she'd expected from someone who grew up believing he was the centre of it. More than that, Malfoy didn't fit the image that Harry, himself, had put into her mind. Maybe he acted differently around Harry. Maybe Harry had the same effect on Malfoy as the reverse. Hermione had no idea.

"He doesn't want to be involved in any aspect of her care. Not now or as she worsens. I've no idea why."

At that, Harry's smirk faded. "That's surprising… I've always thought they were close. Narcissa's letters practically sung his praises."

"Either she's extremely deluded or blatantly lying to cover up the rift, but it's there. _Loud._ Granted, I haven't seen them in the same room together since the first day, but it's awfully tense."

Her best friend still seemed confused. "I'm shocked, really. I mean, he seemed disillusioned with his father during his trial, but he never let go of his mother's hand."

Hermione had her own vague memories of the day, now scattered by time and her own life events that occurred in the years between. The Malfoys had always seemed like a complicated, yet tight-knit family. Though, appearances were often deceiving.

"They aren't." Hermione finally picked up her sandwich. "Their dynamic is strange. Painfully tense. I don't know how anyone can stand it—how _I_ stand it."

"I mean, it's not like we sit and chat like old friends." Harry snorted as if the thought were utterly inconceivable. "But they've had a death in the family in the last six months. Deloris told me of the rumours going around. Apparently, he'll be married again within the year, should his mother have her way."

Hermione winced, but took another bite, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Might be a source of contention, but I doubt it." Harry gave a lazy shrug. "Ginny says the Malfoys are all about fulfilling their duty to family over self, it's practically etched in stone on some ancient rock somewhere."

She sipped her drink, nodding along even though she should have been laughing at Harry's joke.

He finished his potatoes and eyed the second half of his sandwich, sobering. "I wasn't working directly with him at the time. They had me doing a lot of public appearances before my promotion, but he was gone for weeks. When he returned he was just as"—Harry waved his hand—"Malfoy-ish as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary."

As she continued eating, Hermione allowed her mind to wander, sorting through the data she had gathered over the last few weeks.

She recognised the division between the adults as something she would have to address as Narcissa worsened. Who would make important decisions for her? Draco? Yes, but would he give a damn to make the _right_ decision for her? No was looking like the most accurate answer. What safeguards could she employ to ensure the older witch's safety? There would be legal documents and aspects Hermione absolutely _needed_ Malfoy for. He would _have_ to—

Hermione took a deep breath.

She couldn't let herself run wild on that particular train of thought, not when there was another that was far more complicated…

_Scorpius._

_He_ was absolutely none of her business, though Hermione couldn't help but notice the dynamic between his father and grandmother as it pertained to the boy's care. Hermione had never seen either in the same room together, but Malfoy seemed diligent whenever he _wasn't_ around. He listened intently to status reports from Zippy, set Scorpius' place at the table…

He left his son notes.

Still, it was Narcissa who was in control of the oversight of her grandson's complicated daily schedule, packed to the point where she had Third Year flashbacks whenever Zippy would recite his daily activities to Malfoy. Narcissa was the one who made sure he sat up straight, was polite, and _trained_ —a word that still made her shudder. She treated him so unlike she'd treated her own son during their years at school that it was almost beyond belief.

With her rules and regulations, it was a wonder she hadn't burned the curiosity out of him.

Somehow, remarkably, she hadn't.

But like Hermione had already said, he was none of her business and the Malfoys were a better topic for another day. Preferably one when they could chat over the fruity wine Harry would never admit that he enjoyed.

They're been quiet long enough to warrant a subject change, and Harry graciously did the honours. "Something else that's strange? No McLaggen. He usually follows you to my office door."

Her thoughts scattered before a smug grin curled the edges of Hermione's lips. "Wandless Trip Jinx in the lift."

" _Nice_." Harry looked impressed as he bit into the second half of his sandwich. "I suppose that's why you won't accept the security detail, then. Theo told me."

Of course he had. Hermione hadn't even thought about the offer since the first time she'd declined it. "Honestly, Harry, you know me better than that. I can take care of myself."

"Trust me, I'm aware, but they're getting closer to us than I'd like. A threat came to James' school." Hermione's heart stuttered. That really _was_ too close. At her wince, he sighed, looking far wearier than anyone should at their age. "No one was hurt. The teams came in and did a sweep, but found nothing. Ginny and I are beginning to wonder if maybe we need to move schools… or possibly send James to a wizarding primary school, which would be more equipped to handle the threat of Death Eaters, should they attack. Molly thinks we should pull them all out and let her homeschool them."

The look on his face said that would be a last resort.

"Are you looking into private security for the children?"

"A pair at each school." Harry nodded. "Malfoy gave me the name of the company he hired to watch his family."

She raised an inquiring brow. "You two managed to have a conversation long enough to get to that point?"

In response, he finished his bite before shrugging. "I just asked. When I mentioned it was for my kids, he didn't hesitate. I'm serious though, Hermione, I think you should consider it."

"As I told Theo, I am my own security."

Harry's face turned serious. "You don't have to be."

* * *

They finished eating, packed the glass containers back in her bag, and were busy arranging Al's weekend visit when there was a distinctive knock on the door.

Two quick taps, followed by a paused… then a single knock.

Harry sighed, but it wasn't out of exhaustion, just in acknowledgement that his day wasn't yet over. Judging from the calm and cleansing breath he took, he knew exactly who it was.

"Malfoy." With a wave of his hand, Harry's office door creaked open, and the confirmation of his statement stood there like a brooding statue in all black. His arms were even folded as his eyes cut back and forth between them.

"Come in." Harry's tone was far more polite than it tended to be when he talked about the wizard behind his back. Professional. Malfoy entered the office as Hermione stood to leave, grabbing her bag off his desk. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she felt the mood in the office shift with the new addition, turning from friendly to something far chillier. Both had serious expressions on their face, prepared to work.

Or battle.

Likely both.

Still, Malfoy approached Harry's desk, stopping just at the edge. He didn't even try to hide his contempt with the subtle glance at Harry's desk.

"Potter." He didn't spit his name like he used to, but it still made Hermione shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. He was dry, polite, the product of someone who'd spent years entrenched in 'proper' society. Then grey eyes cut to her. "We meet again, Granger."

Confusion flashed across Harry's face as he mouthed ' _again?'_

"We saw each other in the lift with McLaggen."

"Ah."

They stood in awkward silence for what felt like hours with each of them looking everywhere to avoid looking at each other. In actuality, it was less than a minute before Hermione couldn't take it anymore and clasped her hands together. "Well, I'll leave you both to it."

She gave Harry a look that wished him all the luck in the world, a look that made him scratch his scar, not because it itched, simply a force of habit.

Something he only did when he was supremely uncomfortable.

Given the awkward energy that blanketed the room, his feelings made sense.

Unfortunately, there was nothing much to do about that, not much more she could say for encouragement. Hermione's focus went from her best friend back to Malfoy, who was regarding her with a potent yet slightly bemused expression. Then he huffed and glared at Harry. "You didn't ask her, did you?"

"Ask me _what_ , Harry?" Instantly suspicious, she folded her arms across her chest and glared, gritting her teeth.

What Hermione hated most—well, after tardiness, laziness, and mouth-breathing—was being the last to know _anything_. Especially, if it pertained to her in any form. Of course, she could handle it, but that didn't mean she cared to be put in that situation.

And by her best friend, no less.

Harry patted down his messy, dark hair and rubbed the back of his neck. _Guilty._ "We're developing a strategy for the raid and we need a third party's opinion."

"What about Ron?" She immediately deleted the thought because he wouldn't be objective _at all_ when it came to anything involving Malfoy. He'd side with Harry, regardless if he liked his idea or not, just to spite Malfoy. She would have said as much had the blond man not opened his mouth.

"Are you serious, Granger?" Malfoy sounded every bit the prat he was at Hogwarts. "Weasley's idea of foresight is putting his socks on before his shoes."

Hermione found herself suspended in a state of disbelief. Not by what he'd said— _that was typical, really_ —but rather by the dramatic difference between who he was around her versus who he was around Harry. Not saying that he was the most amiable person, but at least Malfoy _tried_ to hold his tongue in his own home. There was also the small part that whispered a reminder that he was the same person who left notes for Scorpius and had politely asked for tea that very morning.

All in all, it felt like whiplash.

Naturally, Harry's infamous temper flared to life in defence of Ron. She couldn't even get a word in edgewise prior to snide comments flying back and forth between the two nemeses, but before it could escalate into unprofessional insults, Hermione took the stance as mediator.

In a way.

"I actually have better things to do than listen to you both squabble like _children_." She glared at them both, jaw set. "So, if we could please, _get on with it_ , I'd appreciate it."

For her troubles, she received a set of piercing frowns that she met with an equal one of her own. She made certain to exude every bit of the irritation she felt.

When the next silence began to stretch again, she huffed. "Harry, stop letting Malfoy regress you fifteen years, it's _ridiculous_." The anger in her friend's eyes instantly died when he _finally_ realised how immature he was acting.

His cheeks flushed.

_One down._

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to another before facing her last obstacle between them all and peace.

"And Malfoy." His expression was stoic defiance. "We all know and remember quite clearly that you're a _massive_ prat. There's no need to remind us by posturing. No one needs that kind of energy on a team, _especially not_ when there's so much on the line. You both have common goals. Remember that."

Almost as if she'd slapped him, the wizard visibly recoiled. In fact, he took a full step back before remembering himself. There was a very good chance no one had taken him to task like that in quite some time.

It was a job Hermione didn't mind taking.

She readied herself for the retaliation, but had one last thing to say. "Oh, and just so you know, Ron's probably a better strategist than _I_ am. In some respects, at least. But Harry was right not to ask him because he'll side with Harry over you out of spite. _I_ won't. It doesn't matter to me who came up with what idea, only which one works best." She unfolded her arms, resting them on her hips. "Don't _judge_ what you don't know."

While Harry was good and chastened, Malfoy's glare only intensified at the callback from their first full conversation. But she honestly didn't care as she stepped forward, closer to him, meeting his opposition with a scowl.

"Reminder, Malfoy: you two have a bigger fight ahead than the one against each other. It doesn't just involve your jobs. It doesn't involve just you as individuals. It involves your _families,_ too." She didn't miss that small tick in his jaw or the way he seemed to reset. Exhale. Refocus. "Now, are you both finished?"

Malfoy acquiesced with a subtle nod.

Harry's agreement, on the other hand, was crystal clear. "If you have any other suggestions for candidates, I'll gladly step aside as I want as little to do with the Ministry as possible. At least in its current state."

There was a long pause while they waited for the last person in the room to get on board.

They didn't have to wait long.

"Since you're already here, I suppose you'll do." Malfoy's response was cool even though the way his hands were curled into tight fists spoke to his aggravation. But then he flexed his hands and his entire demeanour slowly changed. Shifted. Settled. His tone took a professional edge. "Shall we?"

Now that everyone was ready, Hermione got to the point. "Is there a blueprint of the Lestrange Manor where the raid will take place?"

"There." Malfoy gestured to the table in the centre of the room. "The _only_ uncluttered surface in Potter's office." His comment wasn't critical or hostile, merely matter-of-fact. So much so that Harry only shrugged in response.

_He had a point._

They were all gathered around the table—Harry and Hermione on one side, Malfoy on the other—staring down at the blueprint with pins that seemed to be colour-coded for a particular purpose.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "This particular Lestrange Manor hasn't been occupied for at least fifty years, but it's complicated and likely has traps. Its wards can only be taken down by someone of Lestrange blood, but after speaking to several experts, I've found that there's a way to trick the wards."

"Really?" _That_ was fascinating. Impressive, really. Not only because of the possibilities, but also due to the work Malfoy must have put in to discover that piece of knowledge.

Apparently he hadn't shared any of that with Harry, because her friend's face was scrunched up in confusion, as though he were hearing this for the first time. "How is it possible to trick a ward? I didn't know that was possible."

The look on Malfoy's face spoke volumes, namely that Harry was too stupid to live. It was one her friend must have been the recipient of before because it didn't seem to bother him one bit. "It is when the wards are old and very specific, weaved into blood magic. The Manor's wards were specific like that until—"

_Cursed fire that never burned out._

Hermione cringed.

No need to dwell on any of that.

Hermione moved her gaze back to the map. "How do you trick them?"

"It's astoundingly simple." Malfoy reached clear across the table to fix one of the pins. The action caused his cuff to rise higher than usual. It wasn't a particularly noteworthy movement, except for the fact that the action had caused him to tease something she _never_ expected to see on a wizard who wore black like it was a second skin.

It wasn't just the obvious fact that he had a tattoo—or a very large, scaly tattoo, from the looks of it— that wrapped around his wrist and disappeared under his suit.

Yes. Okay. That was _highly_ unexpected.

But what actually caught her attention—what piqued her curiosity—was the _colour_.

She only caught flashes of red and orange and a hint of green before Malfoy righted himself.

Hermione looked away when his scrutinous gaze settled on her, daring her to say something, but she didn't accept the bait. She was smarter than that. Instead, she focused on the broken fireplace behind him. She'd have to ask Deloris to put in an order with Magical Maintenance to fix it because Harry would never remember. Or have time to handle it.

After clearing his throat, Malfoy continued on. "From my inquiry and research, it seems that the Ward Specialist has to be— at the very least—a pureblood. I happen to have found one you both know and trust—Ernie Macmillan. He mainly works on wards for businesses, but he knows how to do it because his family's estate has similar wards. He has already agreed to the job."

Hermione recalled Harry's rant about him changing the wards specialist, but now it made perfect sense.

The Head Auror realised it as well, but also something else. "Ernie doesn't work for the Ministry, Malfoy, we don't have the budget—"

" _Technically_ , he'll be working for me, as I'll be handling his fee." At the surprised look on Harry's face, Malfoy set his jaw, seeming put off by Harry's shock. "I think I've made myself perfectly clear when I said that I was willing to do whatever it takes to end this. Money is no object. Will that be an issue, Potter?"

She and Harry exchanged looks but Hermione said nothing.

It wasn't her place.

The Auror regarded the man across the table for a long moment, and compromised with an exhale. "It won't." He scrubbed his face several times before running a hand through his already wild hair.

"Very well then." Malfoy redirected their attention to the blueprint of the Lestrange Manor. "According to the mole, the black pin is the meeting location. Red pins are the entrance points, not including windows, of course. Anything else you need to know before making an assessment, Granger?"

Hermione looked closer. The room they were meeting in was circular, situated near the centre of the Manor, and it looked like it could pass for a small ballroom. Four clear entrances into the mansion but there were five red pins. It looked like there were two doors that served as both entrances and exits. Not much room for escape— _for anyone._ Which could go either way. Very good or _very_ bad. There was also no telling if there were any sort of traps waiting for them in the house or on the grounds. Hermione bent forward a little, touching the only pin that didn't make sense. A red pin, which meant entrance, but there were no doors leading to the outside.

"What is this pin?"

"A possible secret entryway." Malfoy replied. "I've confirmed there is a tunnel that runs under the house, which stops under this room. I believe there's a way to get into the room from the tunnel."

" _Ah_." That was intriguing. She tucked her hair behind her ear, wishing she'd brought something to tie it back. Hermione concentrated better that way. "Harry? Do you have a rubber band?" They looked at his messy desk. "Nevermind."

Her best friend's smile was sheepish. "I should clear that up."

"Undoubtedly."

"It's fine." Hermione waved him off. "First, I'd like to hear _your_ strategy, Harry." The dark-haired wizard nodded. "Then yours, Malfoy."

She moved to the head of the table, leaving the other two facing each other. Malfoy made a stiff gesture at Harry to start, and after straightening his glasses, he did just that.

Hermione listened to them both. She followed each step of their individual plans, asking questions along the way, while noting that they both had strategies to leverage various advantages to compensate for the lack of manpower.

Harry's strategy was very reflective of his personality: simple and to the point. Storm in, block all exits, make sure they can't Apparate out. Battle until they surrender. How very _Veni, vidi, vici_ of him. He had Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Magical Law Enforcement officers blended into groups, regardless of experience, with the intent that the more seasoned fighters would help when needed. She guessed Harry hadn't considered the secret passageway in his plan because it hadn't been confirmed.

Malfoy's plan was clever and careful, but far more flexible than Harry's, leaning heavily on strategy to compensate for the lack of experience from most of their fighters. It would be easy enough to adjust for any surprises based on their opponents and circumstances. He had the fighters mixed as well, but there was order in the groups, pairings based on experience. Malfoy had arranged for the more experienced fighters to take the main entrances while the untested fighters came through the secret passage.

Harry turned to her once Malfoy concluded. "So, what do you think?"

Hermione pondered over each plan for the raid, asking several questions from both to firm up the parts that hadn't been explained well. Then she closed her eyes and mapped it all out in her head, nodding to herself when she was done, ignoring them both as they stared at her. Harry's regard was good-natured but knowing—he'd witnessed this side of her from time to time over the years. He knew how to wait. Malfoy's narrowed grey eyes basically bore into her as if he were trying to figure out her response before she gave it. Hermione ignored it.

Ignored him.

With her fingers touching her chin, she noted the positives and negatives as she visualised, made her final tallies, and nodded confidently.

Finally, she had an answer.

"And?" Harry tried again, eyes widened.

"Neither."

Malfoy gave her a thin, testy look, while her best friend responded with bewilderment. " _What_?"

"Hear me out." She raised her hand, looking down at the blueprint. "I think the more optimal strategy would be a combination of the two. A compromise, if you will. Harry's right in needing to pack a decisive and strong blow, but Malfoy's flexible plan would be helpful should anything go awry at the last minute. Send Teams C and D through the main two entrances along with E, but have Teams A and B come through the secret passage. Your opponents will think they have the upper hand until your very strong Teams A and B attack from behind." Hermione lifted her eyes to the man on the other side of the table, who now wore a very thoughtful expression. He was _listening_. "Have you confirmed the passageway?"

"I'm working on that as we speak." Malfoy didn't give any more information.

She rearranged the placement of the teams to different entrances. "On the off chance that there is no secret passageway, just send Teams A and B as a second wave, a stronger wave. Although less experienced, the three teams should be able to wear your targets down, leading them into a false sense of security, before the elite teams show up. It's—"

"Impressive." Malfoy sounded like he meant it, albeit reluctantly—if the frown on his face meant anything.

"I didn't do anything except combine both of your ideas. It's something you both could have done _without_ my influence." She gave an offhanded shrug, noting the growing interest on Malfoy's face as he stared at the blueprint. Had they put forth the effort to work as a team, they would have arrived at the same conclusion. "I can't guarantee it'll work. The best laid plans of mice and men—"

"Often go awry," the blond wizard finished. His eyes met hers in a steady gaze.

Hermione blinked, caught off guard, but also remembering the books in his office, as well as the ones she hadn't seen. More to him than meets the eye, indeed.

There was colour on his arm that also attested to this fact.

"Right." Clearing her throat, she turned to Harry, who also wore a pensive expression, but he was looking at Malfoy rather than the blueprint. "What do you think, Harry?"

The question seemed to snap him from his thoughts. "Oh, I think it's brilliant."

"It'll likely need adjusting, of course, as we receive more intel." Malfoy was being surprisingly reasonable. "I think Potter and I will be able to make the appropriate modifications."

It was a foundation… a good place to start.

"How much time do you have for training?" Hermione made a few adjustments, replacing the pins representing the two elite teams.

"A month, perhaps a little more. Malfoy believes the meeting will take place before the start of summer." Harry's statement was confirmed by Malfoy's nod. Hermione frowned; that wasn't a lot of time. "If we could get everyone together more than once a week, we could run drills and help the ones with the least amount of experience improve. However, we don't have the extra time, space, or—"

Hermione scoffed. "Since when have you _really_ ever cared about any of that, or even rules?"

Malfoy made a small, snarky noise, which caused them both to shoot him matching dirty looks.

"You'll have to go about it like in Fifth Year."

"Sneaking around to train people? That's—"

"Do you have any better suggestions, Malfoy?" Hermione only tilted her head in challenge. When he folded his arms and looked away, she turned back to Harry. "I think this could work. How many people on each team?"

"Eight." Harry only shrugged when he noticed her tight grimace. "It was all we could pull together. Hestia tried to appeal for more, to pull more people in off assignment, but the Wizengamot said no. As it stands, the department is already spread thin. The Hit Wizards are at capacity as they've pulled half their ranks for Malfoy's Task Force, Magical Law Enforcement Agents are splitting their time between security for members of the Wizengamot—"

Hermione held up a hand as she drew back. "Wait, that's not their job."

The blond levelled her with a look. "Do you _honestly_ think they give a damn, Granger?"

She knew what he was trying to say, but it was inconceivable to her. "So, they acknowledge the threat of Death Eaters and provide just enough assistance to where they can blame you both should anything bad happen, but they turn around and seek to protect themselves? _Wow_. That is completely—"

"Unsurprising," Malfoy drawled.

Harry agreed with a nod, then his face twisted like he couldn't believe he'd had a moment of accord with Draco Malfoy. Stranger things had already happened, but Hermione wasn't concerned with any of that right then, only her point.

"How can you do nothing about it?" She knew she sounded every bit as self-righteous as she could muster.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry looked uneasy. "It's a predicament, sure, but there's nothing to be done about it."

"There's _plenty_ to be done!"

Malfoy cleared his throat. "As much as I despise the very _idea_ of agreeing with Potter, and will never admit to doing this should anyone bring this up, but… he's right. What would you have him do? Take on the entire Wizengamot?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not the worst idea you've ever had."

"It's short-sighted, Granger, and you know it. They'll sack anyone who so much as steps a _toe_ out of line." He cast a glance over at Harry. "I don't know about Potter here, but I'm not interested in living the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. I'd rather be on _this_ side of the fight, where I have control. I'm not depending on someone who doesn't have a stake in this to ensure the safety of _my_ family. So, if that means smiling in their faces, spending my own money, and working around the corruption to suit my needs and finish this _job_ , then that's what I'll do."

Hermione most _definitely_ didn't like it, but she resigned herself to the fact that Malfoy had a point.

In a way.

His statement tickled at the part of her brain that wanted to say a lot more—especially along the lines of the distance he kept from everyone he sought to protect—but Hermione saved that for later. A better time. Besides, Malfoy, more than any of them, would be a sitting duck if not for his current position. It gave him more than control, it gave him a say in what happened and how it would affect him. And she wondered if that had been his purpose in taking the position. Or even starting a career to begin with.

He worked for free.

"I don't _completely_ disagree with Malfoy," Harry said after a brief silence. "I've sworn to use my position for as much good as possible. We've got forty wizards to take part in a raid that may finally end it all. That's all I can focus on right now. That and making sure I do what I need to keep everyone I care about safe. After? Maybe I'll be able to look towards the fight against corruption, but right now, this is where I am."

And no matter how much it grated her with just how unfair things were, how insane it was that they had to make that choice, Hermione wasn't self-righteous to the point where she could ignore the logic behind their position or the order of their priorities.

They were both more than their jobs.

More than childhood enemies.

They were men.

 _Fathers_.

With a deep breath, she redirected her energy back to the forty wizards they had, no longer fretting over things beyond her control. "Okay, since we're concentrating on this, perhaps you could schedule weekly meetings with each team and use those meetings for training. With eight people per team, you both can—"

Harry interrupted first, expressionless. " _You_ want _me_ to train people. With _Malfoy_?"

"Why not?" Hermione blinked slowly, genuinely trying to figure out if she'd missed something important along the way. "He went through Auror training in France."

Grey eyes widened before he could guard his expression. Then they narrowed in deep suspicion. "Who the _hell_ told you that?"

"A bee."

Harry chuckled, while Malfoy glared at her even harder. "Is that supposed to be a cipher? A _name_ , Granger. I need a name."

She raised one brow in challenge. "Do you think I'm the sort that would reveal my source?" Stepping around the head of the table, she rested one hand flat against the surface.

Malfoy angled his body towards her, arms still folded as he waited impatiently for an answer she would never give.

"You say you don't want to look over your shoulder forever. What does it matter how I know you went through Auror training? I just do. I just know. Are you going to help or not?"

She held his gaze, emboldened when his glare started to recede. Still, his focus remained on her, head tilting slightly to the left, much like it had in the lift with McLaggen. What was he trying to figure out? She wasn't nervous, not even when her eyes slipped from his momentarily, down to his right foot as it tapped once against the carpet, then back up.

Finally, he clenched his jaw. "You're especially aggravating when you think you're right."

Harry snorted in agreement, which made them both look at him; he was picking his nails and only lifted his head when he felt the full weight of their eyes on him. "What? _You are._ "

Just when Hermione was going to retort, they heard Malfoy sigh. "I'll help. Only to help increase our chances at finishing this job and _only_ if Potter stops being a—"

"How about you _both_ put your differences aside until this is done, yeah?"

"I can if he can," Harry said.

With that, Hermione took a step back. "Well, I'll leave it to you both to coordinate schedules. Most of your time should be dedicated to Teams D and E. If you need, I can create training manuals for them."

Malfoy's face twisted in confusion. "You aren't an Auror."

"True, but I _am_ a fighter."

Bemusement quickly crossed his features. It was gone in an instant. "I'm increasingly baffled as to why you'd waste your time as a Healer when you're obviously good at this particular line of work. If things were different with leadership, you would get a lot more recognition doing _this_ than what you're doing now."

Harry looked downright shocked at the backhanded compliment, but Hermione wasn't focused on _why_ Malfoy had felt the need to acknowledge her competency, she was hung up on his blind eye to the larger moral dilemma in his statement. It wasn't the first time she'd been questioned about recognition, and it surely wouldn't be the last. Percy used to bring it up often, until he understood her reasons.

Until she explained herself.

"If I wanted recognition, I would have accepted the job offers they've sent me, but I won't because I don't. I've always wanted to make a difference, and I've learned along the way that there is more than one way to do that." She didn't try to decipher his expression because she couldn't read it. Instead, she focused on her own truth. "I worked for the Ministry for almost as long as I've been a Healer, if not longer, and I've found it more fulfilling to make a large difference on a small scale rather than to change thousands of lives in a very minimal way."

"How noble of you." Malfoy's response was dry. Aloof. Dismissive.

"That's the thing, Malfoy. I'm not being noble. I'm not being honourable. I'm just being myself."

A knock halted all conversation. They all looked when the door opened to reveal Percy, who wore a grim expression. "Apologies for the interruption, but The Chief Warlock would like to speak to you in his office."

"What does he want _now_?" Harry sighed. "We've answered all his questions. He's obsessed with sussing out any conspiracy against him."

Hermione furrowed her brows in curiosity, recalling her earlier conversation with his nephew.

"With power comes paranoia of _losing_ that power." Malfoy's voice was closer than she'd expected, spoken from directly beside her.

His point was… _true_ , but Hermione hadn't heard him move, much less realised that he was standing so close. She only felt his presence after he'd already spoken. Had she been a more jumpy person, she would have had a physical reaction, but as it was, there was only a slight uptick in her pulse, a cord of tension pulled taut.

Finally, when she couldn't stand it any longer, she looked.

"What time are we being summoned, Weasley?"

There was something about his tone that—well, whatever Hermione had been trying to figure out was lost with Percy's response.

"He doesn't want to speak to either of you this time." Blue eyes fell on her and she already knew what he was going to say next, but she braced herself for it anyway. "He'd like to speak with Hermione."

* * *

Everything about Tiberius McLaggen's office was ornate and extravagant, ornamented with gold tones and the finest décor she had ever seen in a Ministry office. It was fitting for him: a bit tacky. She stood in front of the exquisitely crafted maple desk that was decorated with trinkets and expensive clutter that served no purpose except to remind the visitor of his status. There was a small, blue, porcelain kettle with steam wafting from the spout next to two matching cups.

Hermione kept her attention on the man fully dressed in his Wizengamot regalia. Unnecessary outside of hearings and official events. He hadn't once looked up from his task since his door had opened for her admittance, calmly dipping his peacock quill in ink before scratching sounds filled the silence again. But there were little clues that gave away his true feelings, a sense of impatience that told Hermione his silence was a power play.

Unlike last time, she didn't have the advantage.

But her experience with waiting out Theo's silences had prepared her for this moment.

Hermione sat on a chair inlaid with patterned blue silk, and padded with matching damask, so close a match to his desk that Hermione wondered if it had been carved from the same wood. Keeping her body relaxed, and the air about her as poised and confident as she felt, Hermione waited. She kept her hands locked on her lap as she picked up more information from his office than she had from their entire conversation in hers.

His posturing and power plays. His attitude and almost brittle impatience. The way he made sure everyone knew who the leader was.

The fact that he was doing his own work made one thing very clear: Malfoy was right. Tiberius wasn't as in control as he wanted everyone to believe; he was scrambling to keep his position of power.

After all, a king shouldn't have to prove who he is.

Which made her want to pull him apart all the more. She took a deeper look around, paying close attention to everything, gathering information she filed away for later use. Hermione eyed the row of portraits on the wall to her left, all of whom were watching her closely. Portraits of _him_ in various outfits and poses and backgrounds.

The arrogance of it was perversely amusing.

Tiberius worked on, flipping from parchment to parchment, appearing to sign his name over and over. She could only wonder what he was doing as she wasn't in the right position to read upside down. _Pity._

When he placed his quill on the holder next to the inkwell, she knew his impatience had won out.

Hermione was ready.

"Would you care for a cup of tea, Miss Granger?"

He looked up long enough to see her politely incline her head in acceptance. His wandless magic wasn't very smooth, but he managed to pour two cups of tea before replacing the kettle on his desk. She picked up one and wrapped her hands around the warming porcelain.

The tea was dark enough to require the milk he put in his, but she refused.

"I bet you are wondering why you were summoned here today, Miss Granger."

"The thought crossed my mind once or twice." Hermione wore a fixed smile, small and anything but genuine, but she doubted he'd know sincerity even if he saw it. "I would have thought our last conversation would have set the tone and expectations of our future interactions. I don't like surprises any more than I like being summoned."

"Apologies for that. I know you're a busy woman with a new assignment that—"

"Is frankly none of your business, Chief Warlock." Hermione looked down at the liquid. "As I am admittedly quite busy, I hope you don't mind if we bypass the small talk and get straight to the purpose of your invitation."

"Yes, of course. Have you given any additional thought to my last offer?"

"No, and I won't explain myself further as I've run out of ways to say no that you will comprehend."

"Very well then, Miss Granger. That will be all. You are free to stay and enjoy your tea." Tiberius took a sip of his and dramatically placed it on the ornamental saucer. It felt like a free performance. Hermione was anything but impressed. "In the interest of you declining my offer yet again, I've been hearing louder whispers about—"

"Is this an official inquiry? Because if so, let me remind you that I'm allowed to have counsel present." She levelled him with a look. "And if this is _indeed_ a friendly dialogue, I'll remind you that unlawful use of Veritaserum—say, outside of an official inquiry—is a violation of Article Two, Part Three, Subsection D of the Unlawful Use of Potions Act signed into law—"

"Miss Granger, I don't know what you're inferring with your statement."

"Your brew is colourless and odorless." Hermione sat the teacup on the desk. "But something I've noticed while brewing Veritaserum is that there's a slight sheen to it. Just a hint. Only noticeable if you know what to look for."

"I assure you I would never do such a thing."

"Hmm." Hermione folded her arms. "Perhaps you wouldn't, but if you were looking to find out information that you were desperate enough to bend the rules for my own greater good to obtain—perhaps that would be a risk you think you could reasonably take due to your station. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. I don't need Veritaserum to tell you what I know, which is nothing."

"You know something. I just don't know how much."

"I know a great deal of things, Chief Warlock." Hermione stood up. "I have heard the rumblings, I've heard that there are those working to end the corruption that leads right up the ladder to you. I even know you've begun questioning those who might go against you."

Tiberius looked nervous, agitated, but he didn't deny any of it.

She wondered if Percy's project was closing in on a solution.

"A word of friendly advice, Chief Warlock: pick your battles or you will end up like your predecessors." She held her hand up when he rose to his feet in anger. "It's well documented that they were more worried about the Ministry's reputation than _actual_ security, that they abused their power to manipulate the media, and knowingly vilified the wrong people to give the facade of progress. In the end, it was their undoing."

"Miss Granger, are you threatening me?"

"No, but you should worry less about getting me under the Ministry's thumb along with Harry and Malfoy, less about me playing the role you believe I should play, and less about the push to restore power back to the Minister. Try worrying _more_ about what's happening out _there_ to the people you want to lead so badly. You can interview everyone you want, you can dose them all to find out whatever truths you seek, but you'll never be able to silence what is right."

Hermione started for the door, but turned around.

"Change is coming." Hermione smiled. "You can't hide from something that's already begun."

_Time is on the side of change.  
_ **Ruth Bader Ginsburg**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday! This is prob the chap I agonized over. So glad to yeet this one out. Because it's all in Hermione's POV there will be things happening outside her sight. First being that Theo is advocating for Scorp, without much success, but someone is looking out for him, but I feel I hinted at this from the start. But now you've found out what his angle is. Also hello creepy Cormac in the lift with Draco looking on. And hello Hermione handling both Harry and Draco and getting them to finally work together...also continuing to show who she is to Draco... then handling Tiberius. HA. Til next week. Shorter chapter as it's a complete insert (in that I legitimately forgot to write it). Stay safe!


	8. A Silent Shout

**  
Eight  
** _A Silent Shout_

**_May 18, 2011_ **

  
Narcissa looked like a ghost trapped between two worlds.

Shrouded in darkness in the garden at five in the morning, her shadow shimmered against the grass, cast by the flickering light coming from the lone outdoor lamp, highlighted by the moon itself. Her silk white nightgown hung below her knees, the wind blowing, fluttering her gown like a silent, billowing flag. Her legs were exposed to the chill of the elements as her loose blonde curls blew around her shoulders. A robe lay forgotten around her feet.

From the sliding glass door, Hermione could see it all.

Narcissa's face was slack. Blank. Skin so pale it was almost translucent. Her eyes were milky, completely iced over, like she was not present, even in her own mind.

Hermione had been awake, thanks to early morning research and notes from her and Theo's discussion with Charles regarding possible reasons behind Narcissa's irregular readings, when the charmed parchment used to monitor her patient's vitals had started trembling—a sign of trouble.

She was in the Floo in a matter of seconds.

The sight that had greeted Hermione when she arrived was not one she had expected.

_Malfoy._

He stood facing the glass door, watching his mother with his hands clasped behind his back. Dressed in his normal black attire, tall and imposing, the only thing that was off about him was something she didn't see until she approached his left:

A forming bruise on his cheek and a black eye.

But Hermione didn't spare Malfoy another glance, already retrieving her wand and a potion to sedate her patient from her charmed bag. "How long has she been there?"

"I have no idea. I found her out here when I returned home."

Ah, from his overnight work in Wales.

She doubted that he'd slept, but Hermione pushed that thought aside and dug a little deeper, her arm fully submerged in the bag as she rifled around for the last thing she needed. "And how long ago was that?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Did you try—"

"Granger, the state of my face should tell you _exactly_ what I have and have not done." There was a sharpness, an edge to his tone that didn't land easy on her ears. It was hard to determine if there was anything beneath it because Malfoy's bruised face gave nothing away. He took a step back. "This isn't the first time this has happened, even before she became your patient. I'll leave you to do your job." When he turned to leave, one hand was still behind his back while the other—his right—went to his shoulder, gripping it as if trying to massage the tension away.

_Was he hurt?_

To his retreating form, Hermione repeated something she had said to him several times in the last month, much to his aggravation, which she cared little about. "I understand you don't want to be involved, but it's not just _my_ job. It's her life and she's _your_ mother. It would be helpful to know your side of her disease."

Malfoy didn't stop, didn't react, vanishing from sight through the paned double doors of the study next to the staircase. The drapes went down and he was gone, leaving Hermione to contend with his mother.

Hermione sighed to the empty room, braced herself, and walked out.

The predawn air was crisp; the breeze was cooler than she had anticipated, making Hermione's face and body beneath her clothes feel slightly brittle. In contrast, beneath her feet, the grass was soft once she stepped off the cobblestone in her slow approach. In the last month, there hadn't been many incidents, but enough for Hermione to learn how to handle Narcissa better. She knew to remain calm and keep her responses brief, no sudden movements, knew not to bend to pick up the robe, but use a spell—which she did.

Hermione was just about to cast a warming charm on the robe—Narcissa had to be ice cold—when the woman turned to her abruptly. Physically, she was unharmed, but her blue eyes were still vacant. Lost. Haunted. Her lips were faintly trembling. Not from a fear response, but because she was whispering something under her breath. Hermione couldn't hear.

When Narcissa blinked a few times, Hermione thought she was beginning to come out of the episode. However, the fact that she looked almost happy to see Hermione made her realise that no, she _wasn't_.

They were simply Healer and patient. Nothing more.

And yet, the smile on Narcissa's face was slow, familiar. _Fond_. "Meda."

Hermione's breath caught in her chest. She struggled to complete a simple task like form words. Every shred of logic and research in her head told her that she looked nothing like Andromeda, but that was who Narcissa saw.

An image. A mirage. A ghost from her past and a shade from her present.

She knew what to do, what she _needed_ to say, but the urge to correct Narcissa was strong. Still, Hermione took a deep breath and went on a trip with her.

Back to a time when her life was simpler, her mind whole, and her sister was at her side.

"Cissa." Hermione kept her tone affectionate and light, trying to mimic Andromeda's speech pattern as best as she could. "Are you cold?" When she touched her bare arm, Hermione immediately realised that no, she wasn't cold at all, but impossibly warm. The only way that would be possible was with a _charm_.

Hermione instinctively looked over her shoulder, almost expecting a second presence.

There was none.

"It's beautiful out." Narcissa lifted her eyes to the sky, her tone light in a way Hermione had never heard her speak before. "I think I'll stay. Just a little longer."

"It'll be morning soon. You should come inside."

Narcissa lowered her head slowly. There was a look in her blue eyes that was both inviting and tinged with sadness. She touched Hermione's face with a tenderness that left her incapable of moving or speaking, left her staring into her eyes and stepping closer. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "I know you aren't real. I know you're a hallucination. Like the others."

_Like the others._

The words sent a chill rippling up Hermione's spine, rooting her to the spot.

But then Narcissa's face softened, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "But I'm glad it's you here now." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "If only to see you again."

Narcissa seemed to crumple, and Hermione had no option but to pull her close and lower them both to their knees in the grass. Narcissa's pain was loud in the morning's silence. It tugged and squeezed, carved and moulded, applying enough pressure to her fragile state until she broke and shattered under the weight of it.

Listening to her sobs was just as distressing as the knowledge that she likely wouldn't remember this episode when she woke up. Hermione stroked her hair as she trembled, placating her with soft words she truly meant despite the fact that Narcissa irritated her greatly.

 _"_ _It's okay, I'm here now."_

There was an ache in Hermione's chest that clawed its way up, a heaviness that kept her from being able to breathe properly. Nothing terrible, just that this memory would stick with her for days. Weeks. _Months_. Her stomach quivered as she pushed down the swell steadily rising in her throat.

This was the human element to an ugly and cruel disease that was unjust and painful to watch.

But also horrible to experience first-hand.

It was a cold reminder that Narcissa's entire life was changing beyond her control and there were parts of her journey that she would never remember. Like crying out for her sister. Striking her son. And gods, yes, she was the most aggravating person Hermione had ever treated, but it was her duty to be patient. To be understanding. To be kind… even when Narcissa wasn't.

And that was sobering.

Grounding.

Hermione held Narcissa until she calmed, until her grip loosened, until she had enough of a grasp on her own mind to do her job. She couldn't keep the chill from creeping further into her skin, couldn't stop her fingers from trembling as she manoeuvred until she could uncork the vial.

"Cissa, w-who else do you see?"

It was a question Hermione was scared to know the answer to, but nonetheless had to ask.

_Had to know._

Narcissa lifted her head, and Hermione carefully dried her eyes with a whispered spell. The older witch's quiet confession was spoken in a tone laced with an emotion she hid so well during the day: _terror_. "Those I know are dead. The Dark Lord, he was _here_ , just as real as you…"

Hermione swallowed.

_Malfoy._

Distress and confusion started to work their way across Narcissa's features; what little colour was there faded fast. She knew what was next, had experienced it once before.

The combativeness. The panic. _Fear._

She knew she had to act fast. "Drink this. It'll help them go away."

"You're not real. Why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm…" Hermione trailed off, staring at her patient, scrambling for reasons. She did not want to lie to Narcissa, but she also needed her to comply. "Just trust me. _Please_."

By some miracle, Narcissa did, accepting the vial with hands that shook hard, and bringing it to her lips. The sedative worked quickly, and soon Hermione levitated her patient back into the house and tucked her into bed.

By the time she closed Narcissa's bedroom door and asked Zippy to notify her when the older witch woke, Hermione's exhaustion was bone deep. Both physically and emotionally.

Her mind was whirring with several ideas about how to effectively utilise the Palliative Care team, who were due back at the start of next week. It might have been early on, but the last thirty days had shown Hermione that Narcissa needed monitoring around the clock, and it couldn't be done with her enchanted parchment that monitored her vitals alone. There _had_ to be someone there, someone who could coax her back, isolate the triggers for her episodes. _Help her._

One for the day and one for the night perhaps.

Hermione was still thinking about logistics when she returned to the kitchen and found Malfoy placing his daily note by Scorpius' seat.

"I assume your attempt was a success." He didn't look up, but his voice sounded as tired as she felt.

"It was." Hermione paused. "Do you plan to sleep at all?"

She _had_ to ask because when she thought about it, more often than not, he spent his days at the Ministry and his nights in Wales canvassing with a team for a possible Death Eater hideout. Malfoy was, by definition, burning the candle at both ends… and it showed. He was beginning to look drawn, paler. His posture and face told Hermione he hadn't slept in days, if not longer.

"That's none of your concern."

Well, he _sounded_ just as sharp as ever.

"No, I suppose it's not." Hermione went into her bag and retrieved two vials that might help him through the day—Invigoration Draught and Girding Potion. She frowned and retrieved a third for pain before placing them all on the end of the table. "One's for pain. The other two are for you. They aren't substitutes for actual rest, but you'll become a danger to everyone and yourself without some sort of aid."

Hermione would know.

She'd wound up in St. Mungo's after tempting fate too many times.

"I don't want your potions, Granger. Nor do I want your _pity_ ," Malfoy spat. So cold and devoid of warmth, it was even more unsettling than the fury that was contained within his eyes.

Hermione's fist tightened at her side before she took a deep, cleansing breath and left them on the table as a standing offer. "I don't pity you and I _definitely_ don't envy your life. Take them or not, Malfoy, I don't care." She ran a hand through her wild curls. "I'm honestly trying to help and I don't have the energy for your attitude today. Your mother—"

"What about her?"

"She's resting and I…"

There must have been something he heard, a twinge in her tone that cooled him down. "Who did she think you were?"

Rubbing a rough hand over her cheek, Hermione sighed. "Andromeda, but I doubt she'll remember anything."

His snort was bitter, grating, derisive. "Lucky for her."

She had looked at him before, earlier, and again when she'd entered the room, but just then, Hermione took a closer look. Malfoy's eye was worse now—angry and painful, the fresh bruise had spread across his cheekbone and blended away on his right temple. The other mark on the left side of his face had been the one Malfoy had, unsuccessfully, attempted to heal. The discolouration ran from his temple to his cheek, red and swollen, standing out against his pale skin.

She felt… bad for him, for what had likely happened when he'd gone to help his mother, for what her disease was likely doing to him. Not that he would ever admit it.

And when empathy crossed her mind, Malfoy's eyes flashed, and a sudden scowl marred his injured features. "I've already _said_ that I don't want your pity, Granger. And before you deny it, I don't need Legilimency to hear it loud and clear."

Taking a patient breath, Hermione waded through his defences as she took step after step until there was only a table between them. "Forgive me for feeling bad for you, I'll try not to. But if you take a seat, I _can_ heal you."

"I'm fine." He didn't move.

Pursing her lips, Hermione broke eye contact and rubbed her arm first then rested her hands on her hips. She tried to remember how she spoke to all her cagey patients, but gave up trying to treat him like anyone else when he so clearly wasn't.

"You're terrible at Healing Charms, Malfoy. Just like you're probably not fine." He remained unreadable, a stoic mask if not for the small tick of his jaw. "She told me what she saw, who she thought _you_ were. That must have been—"

"I'm _not_ having this discussion with _you_ of all people."

He abruptly left the room.

In the silence following his departure, Hermione frowned at the empty space he had just occupied.

That went about as well as expected.

Then she noticed two of the three potions she'd left were gone. Hermione hadn't seen him take either.

The one that remained was for pain.

* * *

Hermione went about making herself tea and breakfast in preparation to stay until Narcissa woke up. Eggs, toast with jam, and green tea were quickly made, and Hermione contemplated crafting a sensible lunch for Narcissa, who probably wouldn't even be up before then. As she sat at the island, flipping through a recipe book for ideas, she snuck glances at Zippy (as she had done every morning) while he crafted a fine breakfast for a little boy who never seemed interested.

For the first time, Hermione asked, "Why do you make Scorpius such elaborate meals?"

"It is what Mistress wants," the house-elf answered automatically, voice low and devoid of any emotion. Without prompting, Zippy added, "Mistress wishes to refine his palate."

 _That_ was absolutely ridiculous, but Hermione kept her thought to herself as she watched him seamlessly combine each ingredient with magic before cooking and plating the meal. Another snap and it floated over to where Scorpius sat each day, charmed to keep warm. Continuing on his daily routine before his return to Narcissa's room, Zippy vanished with a second snap of his fingers—a bit flummoxed when she thanked him.

Hermione wasn't alone for long.

Malfoy appeared—yes, _appeared,_ as she never once heard his approach—in the doorway while she was placing her clean teacup back in the cupboard. Still bruised, Malfoy seemed calm and composed in that way of his. He held a folder steady in his hand. He had obviously taken the potions. His colour had returned, eyes brightened, posture straightened, he'd even had a shower and changed clothes. The only reason Hermione had been able to tell was because of the difference in the style, material, and cut of his trousers. And his hair wasn't completely dry yet. He'd abandoned his jacket for a black leather wand holster that he'd strapped to his right shoulder.

The best position for a quick draw.

Perhaps that was also the reason his glasses were tucked in the front of his shirt.

He didn't put them on until he dropped the folder on the end of the island.

"You left these."

There was no telling what was inside. In the last month, Hermione had managed to coordinate and organise her research and bought a file cabinet to keep everything in order. But she had research spread out between two houses.

"My mother's potions ingredients."

Something she had misplaced two days prior.

Before Hermione could move, Malfoy had the folder open, and as she approached, she caught sight of untidy scrawl. He'd made _notes_.

Lots of them. In handwriting she could hardly read.

Hermione retrieved the folder, glancing up at the impassive man who didn't move. She took a small step away and out of his bubble before allowing her attention to settle on what he'd done to her ingredients.

There were notes on her morning and afternoon potions, which looked more like suggestions than criticisms from what she could ascertain. But on her evening potions, Malfoy circled two ingredients—knotgrass and dandelion root **—** underlined two more—Goat's horn and hops—multiple times, and made more illegible comments beneath that. Hermione turned her head to the side to try and decipher but came up with nothing.

"Who created the potion?"

His question made her blink twice before turning her attention to him, not at all surprised to find intensity where most people found dullness. The fact that Malfoy appeared to be waiting for an answer made her more comfortable. "I thought you didn't care to be involved."

Barely concealed irritation appeared in a flash before fading, but there was a twinge of it lingering in his tone. "And I thought that as my mother's Healer, you would be astute enough to know when something is wrong."

"Oh, I _know_ something is wrong. I've known for _weeks_. The only reason _you_ don't is because you don't care to know. Simple as—"

"Your evening potion doesn't work."

Hermione inhaled, readying her response when she paused. "Excuse me?" Single-minded, Hermione brought the parchment to her face, squinting at his notes. Merlin, was that an A or a triangle? Or a D? "Has anyone ever told you that your handwriting is utter rubbish?" Absently, Hermione waved her hand before he could argue. "Not that I understand your notes, but what makes you think—"

The words died when she felt him at her arm, looming over her shoulder like a shadow. Malfoy pointed to the two ingredients he'd circled. "How did you make the decision to use this amount of knotgrass and dandelion root?"

"I felt that snowdrop would be too harsh on her stomach and these two were recommended as replacements without diminishing the efficacy."

It didn't take a genius to know that Malfoy didn't like her answer. "Who told you that?"

"I confirmed it with several Potions Masters—"

"That's lazy and unlike you and, frankly, it annoys the _hell_ out of me that I have to break it down this much for someone who is supposedly so _bright_." The final word was spat like it tasted vile in his mouth.

Hermione straightened her spine and set her shoulders. She felt herself warming from being flustered and irritated and unanchored—a state of being that, around him, was beginning to feel normal. A feeling she _despised_ so much that the question of _why_ he bothered her had been locked away in a box, within a larger box, inside a metal cage, behind a spelled door inside her mind.

She turned and found herself toe-to-toe with him. His solid chest was eye level, so she raised her head, looking at his strong jawline, his eyes behind the frames of his glasses, his bruises.

"As far as your mother's condition is concerned, I am limited to what I know, what I've read during research, and what I've been told. _This_ sounds like it's outside of all three. Obviously, a gap exists that I didn't know about. You can't blame me, but you _can_ lose the damn attitude, Malfoy, and _inform me_ so I can help your mother."

His eyes were narrowed. "You want me to do your job for you then?"

Hermione fed him back a wide-eyed look of flaming dissent. "No, I want your help. If you've figured something out, and it sounds like you have, either speak up or get out."

"Your _experts_ are idiots."

What made it worse was that right now, Malfoy was in her personal space criticising her work ethic, but there was the part of her brain that recognised the vague scent of mint, cedar, and something clean coming from him. She would have been perfectly sane had it smelled as horrible as he was acting.

She banished the thought immediately, gearing up to take him on.

Hermione had never made a habit of backing down.

"My experts are at the top of their field for a _reason_ —" Hermione remembered _who_ she was defending herself against and recoiled abruptly. Rather than retreat or struggle under the intensity he seemed to carry with ease, she turned to him completely, her brows knitted together. "Actually, I'm confused as to why I'm explaining this to you as you've expressed time and time again that you don't care about any part of your mother's treatment."

Malfoy took a step back. He dusted the invisible lint off his shirt, turning his head in such a way that made the bruises on his face look even worse. Internally, Hermione winced. Externally, she maintained the fierceness that came along with the momentum of her statement, waiting for his response.

"I don't." There was a rough edge to his voice that made the hairs on Hermione's neck stand up. "I just thought you should know, _Granger_ , that while the ingredients are not technically incorrect, the potion is rendered ineffective by my mother's allergy to Goat's Horn."

_Wait, what?_

She held up the universal symbol for pause. "I'm sorry, _what_ allergy?"

Narcissa had none listed in her file. When she'd asked, before their standoff in her office the very first day, Narcissa had made it clear that she had no allergies. The fact that there _was_ —well, there was the anger rising in her that stemmed from the blatant disregard Narcissa had for her own health in order to keep something as petty as an allergy a secret.

 _Real_ damage could have been done.

Second, that could have been the key to everything: her irregular results and how she seemed to sharply decline in the evening. She had been practically drinking pumpkin juice as evening potions for the last month. None of the potions were effective unless all three were being taken accordingly.

_Shite._

A month's worth of work _never happened_ , just like that.

Hermione's mood further soured. Tightened. She shut the folder, placed it on the granite island, and repeated herself one last time. _"What allergy?"_

Malfoy's expression shifted to something between a glower and a smirk, his eyes still hard. If at all possible, he stood taller. "I'm not surprised she didn't tell you. She scarcely remembers it herself, but it's not lethal. Goat's Horn has magical properties that don't work on her, which essentially neutralises your evening potions…and likely all the others as well." There was a hint of something lurking underneath each word, each breath, that seemed to take pride in flexing his knowledge.

Pride in knowing something no one else knew.

And how did she know that?

Well, she recognised it in herself. "When did you figure this out?"

"Last night before my Portkey to Wales. I found your ingredients list the day before and took a look. It wasn't hard to figure out the problem in her potions from there."

"Because she's your mother and you know these things."

"No, because I consult _myself_ and my own knowledge when I want to figure something out. Not so-called _experts_ ," Malfoy snapped, but his tone was less caustic and more… Hermione wasn't actually certain. "There are several alternatives that would serve as a replacement, but based on the other ingredients, you should add more arka and dandelion root. I've included the amounts on the parchment." There was a pause as she scanned the parchment. He made no apologies for his poor handwriting. "Furthermore, you don't need hops in there at all. It's useless, not at all the binding agent you and your _experts_ seem to think it is. Might I suggest something common like shellac."

Hermione was speechless.

Malfoy had obviously put more thought into it than he would ever confess. Still, it was probably the most she'd heard him speak about _anything_ concerning his mother's treatment.

A step forward.

_Change?_

He was _open_. However accidental that had been, and Hermione forced back that giddy part of her that wanted to ask him a million things now that he seemed to be in a talkative mood. She kept her tone fixed with that undercurrent of irritation she almost always felt about and around his mother. And him.

"How did you find out about her allergy?"

"The ingredient was in a vanity potion of hers t—" Malfoy suddenly remembered himself, their proximity, and who he was speaking to, all but reaching out and snatching back the words he had spoken.

One step forward, two steps back.

After clearing his throat, Malfoy fixed his tie and ran a quick hand down the front of his shirt before taking yet another step back. Hermione allowed herself to follow each step as he closed himself up before he said anything else unintentional, frowning at herself for not asking a better question while she had the opportunity.

"What does it matter how I know, Granger? Now you do. Also, you have your parchment and your solution. Brew the potion with those suggestions and it should work."

"Fine." She waited for him to say something else, but he didn't, long gone back into his fortress with high walls. "Thank you for your help, however reluctant."

"I'm just trying not to get punched again."

Hermione frowned. "How many times has something like that happened?"

 _"_ _Enough."_ Well, that was that. Conversation over. "Additionally, I found your potions book and left it upstairs in your designated area."

"I'll need it to brew, along with the parchment, of course."

His eyebrow lifted above his glasses. "You brew with books?"

"Yes."

"Because you're unfamiliar with the potion?"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, feeling suddenly odd. "I brew with books, and even parchment, no matter how many times I have created the potion. It's necessary for error-proof potions making."

Malfoy looked like someone with weighted opinions. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why books or parchment? Why do you need directions when you already know what you're doing—especially when you've made a particular potion before?"

"Why does it matter, Malfoy?" She found herself on the defence. "The potion is brewed correctly."

He brought his hand to his chin and made a small _hmm_ noise before pulling his wand from his holster and summoning a single vial of his mother's potions. The colour told Hermione that it was her afternoon dose. Malfoy caught it effortlessly while re-holstering his wand.

For a second, Hermione was torn between watching his visual inspection of her work and just watching _him_. But she quickly settled into some twisted hybrid of the two that had her watching every motion of Malfoy's hands, every movement of his eyes. She took the same breath he did when he uncorked the potion and took a small whiff.

Evaluating him in some foolish mission to figure out why his actions didn't match his behaviour, she couldn't look away.

"Each week, I've looked at the potions you leave for my mother. Admittedly, your potions appear correct and the quality is quite good, given the lack of imagination." That made her bristle. "They are… better than some Apothecaries." He didn't look exactly thrilled about having to compliment her, however backhanded. Hermione raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Although, it could be better."

She didn't take criticism well. Not unusual, but his _burned_. "You already admitted that my potions are brewed correctly, that they are better than some Apothecaries. How could they possibly be better?"

"If you experimented, they could be, but you obviously don't." An echo of the boy he'd once been coloured the deep timbre of his voice. "Something I find very strange."

"And why's that?"

"I remember you differently."

Just like that, the flames of her anger were extinguished.

Hermione blinked at him in naked confusion she didn't bother to hide.

Apparently, he was feeling particularly loquacious and challenging; his step forward was as confident as her step back was defensive. "You've always annoyingly had the right answers. The Room of Requirement. Protean coins. Umbridge. The dragon at Gringotts. Your house-elf agenda. I'm certain there's more that you, Potter, and Weasley have managed to hide from the world, but as it stands right now, people will follow, should you ever choose to lead."

"I have no interest in that."

"So I recall." Malfoy's scrutiny was heavy, like a lead weight, his voice low as though he didn't want anyone else to overhear the conversation, which was ridiculous because they were alone. "Not only have you changed careers, you also don't experiment. Not so daring anymore, are you?"

Her fingers curled into a fist.

At her lack of immediate response, he probed harder, unreadable eyes searching hers for what seemed like years in a matter of seconds. It wasn't the first time she'd heard those words, but coming from Malfoy, coupled with her exhaustion from Narcissa, they made her wilt. She no longer wanted to engage. An involuntary flinch made Hermione look away and stall for time or something witty to say before she left, but she came up empty-handed on all fronts.

She hadn't retreated from any of their previous conversations in the last month—Malfoy seemed to be the master of dramatic exits—but there was a first time for everything. Still, Hermione kept her calm as she picked up her folder.

"I'm going to check on your mother." She passed him on her way out, resolved to wait in Narcissa's sitting area until she—

"Interesting," his voice rang out in the silence. "For the last month, _this_ is all I had to say to shut you up."

Hermione took a hard breath, knowing he was only saying that to get a rise out of her. She wouldn't take the bait.

"I'm as tired as you pretend not to be." Hermione turned around, using a last flare of energy to make her final point. Malfoy's arrogance had diminished into a grimace. "Don't underestimate me, Malfoy. I'm still _quite_ daring, but I don't expend energy to experiment unless I absolutely have to. Until I have a reason. And right now, I don't. Also, you speak of who I was when the only reason I did any of it was because it was right and also I did it all to help Harry. My job is done in that aspect."

"Perhaps, but you're a Healer _now_. I should think that improving the potions you provide your patients warrants experimentation."

"The potions work. Or they would have. Your mother's undisclosed allergy is the cause of all this, but that doesn't negate anything else. When that's fixed, they _will_ work. Why would I try to fix something that isn't broken?"

"Just because something isn't broken doesn't mean you've achieved optimal results. How would you even know? You haven't experimented enough to ascertain if something is broken or not. I believe knowledge is about the pursuit of truth, rather than convenient applications. There is _always_ room for improvement."

"That can be said about people as well."

He flinched, and it was more dramatic with the bruising on his face, but he recovered quickly. "Ah, yes. _People_." His drawl made her tense, made her want her wand in her hand, but she squeezed her empty fist tighter. "You think you know us all _so_ well, don't you?"

"One could argue with your assessment of my character that you're the same way."

Malfoy scoffed. "Don't waste my time with the 'we're so alike' bullshit. We're not."

"I never said we're alike. I—"

"For the last month, I've listened to your rhetoric. Your opinions about different topics, your deep-seated wish to make the world a better place one person, one interaction at a time. It's all bullshit, idealistic, but I'll bite. On the original subject of experimentation, how can you strive for a better world when you won't experiment? When you won't let yourself _try_ something new? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results."

His words lit a fire inside of Hermione, a call to arms to defend herself. All thoughts of abandoning the conversation vanished like smoke in the breeze.

She readied herself.

"First, I don't expect different results. I expect the _correct_ ones."

Malfoy folded his arms.

"Second, it's not all bullshit—"

"People aren't wired to care about anyone except themselves, their inner circle of family and friends, and anyone that serves a purpose to them. _Humans_ are inherently self-centred, greedy, and self-seeking. Every single thing we do, we do in order to serve the interest of our own."

She took a step towards him. "People are not inherently _anything_ but human, however your pessimism doesn't surprise me."

"I'm a realist, Granger, and you may say all the right things, but you're no different than anyone. Your work seems like altruism when you're driven by your desire to feel good about yourself, to look good in the eyes of others, and to remain consistent with your principles. Your selfishness may take a different form, but in the end, you're just like everyone else."

"You have no _idea_ who I am. Or the work I do."

His expression didn't change, but she detected a flash of something in his eyes. "I know enough about your work. Perhaps not about anything else, but your 'make a larger impact on a smaller scale' view is flawed by your behaviour. In order to incite the change you talk about, you have to be willing to make alterations and modifications to existing solutions. You have to keep pushing. You can't be as complacent as you are, dependent on your existing knowledge."

Hermione shifted her weight from foot to foot. "You quoted Einstein before when you said—"

"Your bias is showing." Malfoy looked more annoyed than disappointed.

She huffed, not in anger, but because Hermione found herself flustered and it aggravated the hell out of her. "No, it's not. As I was _saying_ , if you want to quote Einstein, he also said that problems cannot be solved with the same mindset that created them. You think my beliefs are bullshit, but you haven't expressed your own on the matter."

"You don't care to hear my views."

"I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't." She approached him slowly, like one would a wild cat, his eyes heavy on her, tensing more and more with each step she took. But Malfoy didn't back away, didn't back down. Not even when she stood right in front of him. "It's so _easy_ to criticise when you do nothing."

"So we should all be like you, then? Solving the world's problems one at a time?"

With a curt frown, he folded his arms across his chest, and for a second, Hermione's eyes drifted to the sleeve of his shirt, remembering the splashes of colour her curiosity wouldn't let her forget. Malfoy abruptly dropped his arms in a move that drew her attention back to him. Back to his statement.

"I'm not surprised you've misinterpreted my statement. We cannot solve the world's problems. I've never once put that responsibility on my shoulders. I'm only one person. As are you. I merely said that I'd rather make significant changes on a smaller scale. They're more impactful that way. And change always ripples out. Furthermore, I believe it's our duty as humans to leave this world better than we found it, however we can, and that's what I intend to do. In my own way. Starting here."

Hermione lifted up on the tips of her toes and whispered a Healing Charm.

Malfoy braced one hand on the granite and inhaled sharply, probably to argue, but his words were dead on arrival. Hermione worked, her fingers hovering over his healing skin as she murmured another spell, but the weight of his gaze remained heavy. Piercing. Hard to ignore. Hard to decipher.

But tension seemed to bleed from him as the magic took hold, as the pain he'd never confess to feeling began to recede.

Seconds passed, but felt far longer, before his bruises completely faded, healed, and vanished into nothing except flawless skin.

" _That_ is how _I_ am wired," she said in a near whisper as she lowered herself back until the soles of her shoes touched the wooden floor again.

His eyes followed her action. Followed _her_.

They exhaled simultaneously. Hermione felt strange and untethered, but not disoriented enough to stop her from making her point.

"I'm not perfectly altruistic, but I _am_ wired to care about people. I'm wired to help any and everyone I can, even _you_. And for someone who doesn't give a damn, you've obviously put a lot of thought into my character."

That seemed to wake him from his trance. His eyes hardened. "Just as I assume you having these daily discussions with me are to determine _mine_. Have you got your answers yet?"

"No."

He was so cagey, so defensive; it would take a thousand conversations to understand him and more energy than she had time to expend. Malfoy gave her an odd look before checking his watch. Hermione glanced at the clock behind him.

It was just past seven.

Time for him to leave.

With just enough time to be gone before Narcissa's normal arrival, though today she'd be having a lie in.

But Scorpius…

Malfoy didn't say goodbye, he never did, he simply sidestepped her on his way out. The only difference today was the fact that he repeatedly ran a rough hand through his hair, messing it up, then shook his head as he approached the threshold of the kitchen that would lead him in the direction of his office to Floo into work. He was off to continue his schedule, working a job he never got paid for, while she remained to do hers—all the while noticing the little things that weren't her business, but kept the flames of her curiosity flickering.

One in particular?

"Scorpius looks for you every morning without fail."

Malfoy paused just inside the arch of the doorway. She could see the wave of tension in the rise and fall of his shoulders, the flex of his hands, the rigid line of his posture. His audible breath.

"I thought you should know."

He continued on.

* * *

Hermione considered being there when Narcissa woke, but she wasn't.

She needed the rest.

As did the staff.

After deciphering Malfoy's handwriting, researching alternatives all morning in her office, and checking everything over with her experts first—who seemed impressed by Malfoy's suggestions—Hermione reached out to Neville to see if he had the herbs in his greenhouse. He did, thankfully, already dried.

Perfect.

From there, Hermione fed the chickens table scraps and took her frustration out on the weeds in her herb garden. She watered everything in the greenhouse and made notes on how the arka plant was growing for Neville. It had grown. Not much, but just enough. With mostly everything done, Hermione treated herself to an early lunch and a book when she found herself hungry just before eleven.

But after finishing her sandwich and two chapters, that mounting frustration returned, distracting her to the point where she was reading pages twice. Which was how she found herself in her brewing room with a trusty book on the stand, making a batch of the evening potion for Narcissa.

Pretty soon, everything was chopped, diced, minced, sorted, and added with flicks of her wrist into the bubbling cauldron. The flames were low, just like they should be. Everything just as Malfoy had directed in the horrid handwriting she was beginning to decode. Perfect.

It took Hermione a little longer than usual to focus. A little longer to settle. More effort to clear her mind. Brewing was as difficult as it could be calming, but today Hermione found herself agitated.

It probably had something to do with the earworm that stuck with her from her conversation with Malfoy.

It wasn't that she couldn't brew without books— _she could_ —but there was comfort in the action, in the routine. She always set a text up on the stand, flipped to the right page, and started from the beginning, looking on as she went. There was familiarity in the habit.

Hermione wasn't exactly passionate about potions or cooking. Despite having a room dedicated to each craft, she cooked and brewed potions mainly for others. But the joy she got in it wasn't just the fact that she could help them, it had to do with the residual part of the child in her that loved the act of following directions. Hermione liked the order in it, the stability; she liked the process of making something that, in truth, didn't require a lot of talent to produce.

And the bit about not experimenting?

Well.

There was no need for any other project. Everything had worked as it should through an extensive amount of research and the consultation of experts. It made no sense to change something that had been proven to work. No need to change the written word.

That went for Narcissa's case, as well.

The readjustment to her evening potion had taken little effort—just a tweak.

Right now, the brew looked as he'd described on the corners of the parchment.

What did he want her to do? Adjust the entire thing? That made no sense. Banishing the thought to the corner of her mind, Hermione inhaled and exhaled before allowing his words to roll off her shoulders into a heap around her feet. Then, she did things _her_ way.

The proper amount of time passed before the potion exuded its faint purple smoke, indicating completion. And after bottling it into seven vials, a glance at the wall made her frown. It was nearly one.

Narcissa should be up soon.

And they needed to talk.

That mood followed her back into Malfoy's residence, where she stocked the new evening potions and disposed of the old ones. When Hermione went to check on Narcissa, Zippy was stationed outside her door. Watchful. "Has she woken up?"

"Mistress continues to sleep peacefully."

"Please get me when she wakes? And if she isn't up in an hour, please come get me anyway. I'll be around here."

"Yes, Miss."

With a friendly nod at the house-elf who seemed eager to follow her command, she left the way she'd entered, walking through Narcissa's private sitting area. The room was decorated in her ornate traditional style—the only part of the house embellished in such a manner, a symbol of the room being strictly hers.

Like Malfoy's office.

Hermione had options to pass the time. She had research to review and notes to continue drafting on her day to day care for Narcissa's case study. There was a smaller study upstairs, right next door to where Scorpius' tutor conducted lessons, which had been cleared after that disastrous first day. Hermione was headed there when she spotted something strange in the living room.

 _Someone_ who had drifted off-course from his schedule.

Scorpius.

Standing by the glass door, with his back to her as he stared out into the empty garden, he pressed one hand on the glass that was sure to leave a smudge for Zippy to clean.

It was probably the loneliest sight Hermione had ever seen.

After backing away, she went on the hunt for his nanny; Scorpius' location didn't quite line up with his schedule she had all but learned. Hermione found Catherine in the library where his tutoring sessions took place with the tutor himself. She was helping him tune a stubborn piano for music lessons.

Hermione asked if either of them had noticed that their pupil had left.

"It's fine. I'll find him when we're ready to get started."

It sounded like something she had done before, something she had great experience with.

"Oh, I know where he is." The tutor pressed a key on the piano and, though not musically inclined, it still sounded wrong to Hermione's ear.

"Can you keep an eye on him until we finish?"

Hermione almost said something _much_ different from her actual response, which was, "Of course."

When she returned, she found Scorpius in the same place, his hand still on the glass. What he was looking at or for, Hermione had no idea. She stood next to him to see if she could figure it out, but all she did was alert him to her presence.

He looked up at her. Not startled or scared. Just blank.

Staring had been their default for the last month. He did it at breakfast and the occasional lunch when Narcissa would request his presence. Scorpius looked on as she asked Narcissa her battery of questions—something she tried not to do in his presence, but Narcissa didn't especially care.

It was innocent really, if a little unnerving, but it changed when Hermione started moving his glass of juice from his right to his left. The original reason had been so he would stop accidentally reaching for Narcissa's, but after that day Scorpius began watching her differently.

It was hard to explain.

His routine was set in stone. Whenever he entered the kitchen, he would look around for his father, then after his spell of disappointment, his eyes would fall on her. Only her. And he would watch Hermione through his grandmother's initial directions to the point where she was certain if tested, he would never remember what she'd said. Scorpius would watch her through breakfast, but wouldn't touch his juice until she moved it from the right to left. And after a few days of that, he even started looking back at her whenever he was sent to lessons.

The first time Hermione waved, he'd nearly walked into a wall.

Her second instinct had been to chuckle, which was quickly overridden by her first: to make sure he was okay. But Scorpius just blushed and walked away.

She didn't hear Narcissa's first comment about his behaviour, but she had heard her aggravated sigh.

 _"_ _That boy."_

Today was different. And it likely had to do with his appearance when and where he shouldn't have been. Scorpius stared at her for long enough that Hermione started a conversation to break the silence.

"Do you want to go outside?"

It was overcast, breezy, and would probably rain soon, but perhaps it would hold out long enough for Scorpius to get the fresh air he likely needed. The nod he gave in response was as hesitant as expected. That uncertainty extended even after she opened the door, allowing a gust of wind to blow his hair askance. In fact, Hermione had to walk out first before he tentatively followed.

"Feels good, yes?"

Scorpius didn't agree and it wasn't more than a few wind gusts later that Hermione followed him back inside where he sat in front of the window, fixed his hair, and watched. He was more content to observe rather than experience the weather for himself. At least the wind. Odd for a child his age, but it made sense in an odd sort of way.

Having nothing better to do, Hermione joined him, folding her legs comfortably. Just like his.

As it turned out, the rain didn't stay away. Darkening clouds continued to roll in, and soon droplets hit the glass pane in a slow, rhythmic beat that quickened as the storm barrelled overhead. Hermione glanced over at Scorpius and found him looking at her curiously.

A soft smile developed where none had been before. "You really remind me of your dad. Only you don't scowl as much as he did."

If at all possible, Scorpius perked up, scooting closer to her, eager to hear more.

About his father.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she suddenly felt a bit lightheaded. "Your dad… you want to know more about him?"

Scorpius nodded, jittery in the way children got when they were stifling excitement.

Dread rose in her chest as she rubbed the back of her neck, patting down her frizz with several strokes. Hermione struggled to find the words.

What could she tell Scorpius Malfoy about his father?

In school, he had been a spoiled bully, a bigot, an ignorant blood purist who was intolerant and manipulative and believed himself better than everyone else. Malfoy had been his father's son. But everything couldn't be blamed on his parents. Malfoy had made bad choices, done awful things, and—Kingsley's words came roaring back.

Words that reminded her that, while Draco Malfoy had been all of those terrible things, she didn't have the right to judge him. Not at face value, not at all.

Not when he was trying to atone.

In his own way.

Though vastly different, Hermione had made choices for which she sought a similar version of atonement with her parents. Being on the winning side of the war hadn't justified every single one of her actions, just like him being on the losing side didn't deem him eternally a villain incapable of change.

It just made them both human. Two sides of the same coin. Capable of great and terrible things.

It wasn't her place to determine what he deserved, but in that moment, it wasn't about Malfoy.

It was about Scorpius.

But it _definitely_ wasn't ideal to give him a true account of the person his father had been, even as she sought answers to determine who he was now. The pieces she had of Draco Malfoy's life made little sense—the notes he left and the distance he kept, the time he'd invested to figuring out the problem with his mother's potions and his overall apathy towards her disease—but something Hermione did know was that he _had_ changed.

And perhaps Scorpius deserved to know this version of his father.

She knew it wasn't her place to tell him anything, but the open curiosity on his adorable face made Hermione try to find _something_ she _could_ say.

"Your dad and I… Well, we weren't friends. I don't know him that well, but what I _do_ know is that he's smart and is good at fixing things." The more she spoke, the easier it got. Somewhat. "He was good at flying. He played Quidditch—" Scorpius tilted his head to the side like a confused baby owl. "Ah, you don't know Quidditch. Neither do I, but—" Maybe one day Malfoy would teach him. Hermione cleared her throat. "Your dad was great at potions. Still is, it seems."

None of it was a lie, even if the truth was far more complex than the washed down version she gave.

Scorpius hung on her every word, cheeks flushed pink as if he were holding his breath.

_He wanted to know him._

The sight of his curiosity made Hermione's heart squeeze tightly in her chest. She found herself grappling through the files in her mind just so she could help him. "H-he likes reading the paper and crosswords puzzles. He swims. He sets your place at the table every day and puts your note there himself."

That made him freeze before producing not just one note, but a small handful, from the pocket of his trousers, dropping some like most kids did when they tried to grab too many things for their little hands. What spilled from his pockets represented days and _days_ of notes. Notes that Scorpius kept close as he tried to decipher his father from words too illegible for him to read.

There was a sad sort of irony that Hermione couldn't help but notice.

Couldn't help but feel the ache in her head and heart.

What she'd told him wasn't much, but from the way his attention went from her to the notes, maybe it was enough.

For now.

One by one, after looking at each note and trying to decipher it, Scorpius returned them to his pocket that was clearly charmed to hold the sheer volume of notes he kept there. He then returned to watching the storm, getting up and standing in front of the window, just as she had found him before.

He seemed contemplative and stoic in a way that made him look older than five.

As though life had dealt him a bad hand—maybe quite a few—but he was bearing it.

Even the way Scorpius held himself, like his father with both hands behind his back, made her feel both amused and sad. It was a strange mix that hurt because she could see that beneath it all, everything about him spoke of anguish. And melancholy.

A roll of thunder and a flash of lightning came and went, but he didn't flinch. His focus was on the raindrops that slid down the glass, distorting the world outside, raindrops that he'd begun randomly tracing the trail of with a small finger. As she watched him, a question was called from the recesses of her mind. Hermione had no idea why she even asked it or where the question had come from, but in the silence between them, as the rain fell, the wind gusted, and lightning crackled overhead, a quiet question floated from her mouth to his ears.

 _"_ _Are you okay?"_

She immediately felt the bottom drop out of her heart when Scorpius tensed then fell apart right before her eyes.

He flinched as if her words had physically struck him, the hand still behind him curling into a small fist. The action tugged hard on every heartstring Hermione had and a familiar tightness returned. Only more intense.

She heard Scorpius take a sharp breath before he rested his head on the cool glass. It only lasted a moment before he took a step back, wrapped his small hands around his stomach, and curled in on himself as though he needed protection and the only place he could find it was… in himself.

Hermione moved on instinct rather than logic, placing a gentle, encouraging hand on his shoulder. He sidestepped. His message was clear.

Don't touch. Keep away.

And she listened, but remained close, helpless, hating that she'd unearthed his pain with one question. Scorpius' cheeks reddened as he turned his back to her completely, taking ragged breath after breath as if he were struggling for air.

Trying to keep something in that desperately wanted out.

"It's… it's okay to not be okay."

No, Scorpius didn't make much noise, his hurt remained silent, but his _pain?_

That was loud, vivid, and honest.

It shook Hermione to the core.

He lifted his head, staring at the ceiling as he struggled on, fighting it, breathing so loud it was deafening. Like the storm outside, the one in front of her was a force of nature all its own.

Scorpius was all Hermione could hear. His devastation was all she could feel.

But slowly, he began to realise that he wasn't alone. That she was there. And he seemed to retreat further. Deeper. Fixing his face brick by brick. Getting his breathing under control. Scorpius did everything except cry.

And she _hated_ that somewhere along the line, he had been taught to control himself to that extent.

Hermione crawled to him, putting herself back in his line of sight—face to face. She had no idea what to say or what to do. But she knew she had to do something before he closed up again. Hermione didn't touch him, but she tried her best and offered some comfort.

A word.

The only one she could muster.

His name.

"Scorpius."

Whatever progress he'd made crumpled with the quivering of his lip. The forming tears in his eyes were scrubbed away too hard with small hands he then used to cover his face. Scorpius staggered back as if unmoored. And all Hermione could do was try to pull him back with words.

"Can I help?"

Gods, her hands were shaking so bad with her overwhelming urge to help him, to reach for him, to give a hurting child the comfort he so _desperately_ needed. But the look he gave her haunted Hermione long after he calmed himself down enough to leave.

A look that said one thing.

 _No,_ she couldn't help.

He had been quiet for too long.

* * *

Ginny eyed the pie Hermione offered with the same suspicion she reserved for James whenever he tried to blame Albus and Lily for something they _clearly_ hadn't done. Hermione held her breath until she accepted the offer. Because really, who would turn down a pie?

Blueberry especially.

It was Lily's favourite.

But acceptance didn't smooth her furrowed brows or remove that pinched expression from her face—the look that meant Hermione wasn't sure if Ginny was going to hold on for a meaningful lecture or let it go until next time.

In truth, she didn't know which would be worse.

"You only bake dessert under duress or for someone's birthday." Ginny looked to her right at the second bag. "It's no one's birthday and you've baked _two_ pies. What the hell happened to you today?"

Actually, she'd made three, but Hermione kept that bit of information to herself.

"I made that for Daphne. She _loves_ pie." Hermione cleared her throat. "Where are the kids?"

"Nice diversion attempt, but I'll allow it. James is upstairs finishing his homework." She stopped and yelled for him to come down because Hermione was there. She could hear immediate movement. "Lily's with my parents, and Albus is out with Harry. He needed a break." Ginny sighed and joined her at the table. "School was rough today. He came home in tears and he's still eating lunch alone."

Hermione hated to hear that. Al was so kind and generous, but he never knew what to say to the other children. He'd get so excited that he'd just freeze up, sort of like stage fright. The children avoided him, called him names, and—well, he needed a friend who understood him.

"I know it's not my weekend, but if you—"

"Oh no, we couldn't." Ginny waved her off. "Harry took him to dinner and they're going to the Planetarium."

Albus loved the stars.

"Still, I wouldn't mind." Thoughts of another little boy's pain and loneliness swelled and swirled in her memory, then receded, before coming back harder—like the tide. With it, Hermione felt the first signs of the emotional blowback from the afternoon rise in her chest. She felt tightness behind her eyes that matched the one in her chest and blinked furiously to prevent any tears from falling. Her thumbnail dug into her hand— _hard_. "It'd be nice to see him."

Ginny said nothing at first, then leaned forward, placing her hand over Hermione's locked fingers, trying to catch her eye.

Hermione looked past her friend to where another redhead entered the room. "Hi James!" she greeted him with a bright smile that quickly hollowed out.

At seven, James wasn't a hugger, never had been. He was more inclined to run or complain his way through one, but there must have been something on Hermione's face that made him approach with a tentativeness she had never seen before. Something that made him pause at her side…

Then wrap his arms around her.

The hug didn't last long, just a few seconds, but it helped.

Having no idea how much she needed that, James hopped over to Ginny's side with a wide smile. Too wide. Like a Cheshire cat. " _Muuuuum_ …"

Already knowing what he wanted, Ginny gave him a long look. "Did you finish your assignments?"

"Yes!"

"Go get your shoes on and I'll take you over to the Burr—" With a whoop, he ran back out, and seconds later, they both heard him stomping around upstairs. Ginny chuckled to herself and Hermione couldn't help but join in. "George is doing fireworks at the Burrow. Angelina's in town. You should come. Take your mind off whatever it is that's troubling you."

"It'll just be back tomorrow." Hermione knew her smile was tight as she stared at her friend across the table.

"You never did say what happened today."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Not what, _who."_

Ginny's eyebrow lifted. "Malfoys'?"

"Yes, but no. The smallest one is…" Hermione was at a loss for words. " _Ginny_."

"Oh." Whatever her friend knew about the Malfoys' situation seemed to settle in. " _Oh_ … how long has it been? Six months?" Ginny winced, knowing too much about loss. "Not a lot of time. Not for any of them, even Malfoy."

Hermione frowned. "From what I've gathered, it wasn't a marriage of love. Just duty."

"Doesn't change the fact that he lost someone, too."

The words stuck to her like a second skin, a film that no amount of scrubbing could cleanse, they settled and made her itch with irritation. Made her oddly restless.

It was one thing to think of Draco Malfoy as father and son, but another to remind herself that he was in fact a _widower_. That he'd lost someone, as well. His attitude certainly never served as a cue… he never acted like someone who was in mourning.

But that wasn't fair of her.

How could anyone tell someone how to grieve?

Much less someone like Draco Malfoy whose pride and defensiveness had made him hard pressed to ask for help in its simplest form. Even when he needed it.

_Especially then._

Her thoughts made her decline Ginny's invitation a second time and brought her to her next destination: Dean and Daphne's. When Hermione showed up at their doorstep after dark, Dean took one look at her face, then at what she was holding, and stepped aside.

"Daph! Hermione's here! Looks like she's brought a pie!"

The pregnant woman practically materialised at the top of the stairs. "Oh! What kind?" They locked eyes and knowing expressions passed between them. "Dean can you—"

"Ron's invited me to the Burrow for fireworks, remember? But you said you wanted me—"

"To work on the nursery, yes yes, but now you can go." Daphne had already started down the stairs, one hand on the railing and the other cradling her ever-growing belly. She was in her eighth month and starting to waddle, which was how she walked over to her husband, kissing him soundly before shooing him off.

Dean left before she could change her mind and put him back to work, but not before he looked back. "Want me to bring anything home?"

"We're out of crisps. You ate them all."

They all knew that was a lie, but Dean just smiled. "Sure thing. Sorry, love."

"The cheese ones, please."

He just chuckled, nodded fondly, and left them alone in the foyer.

"Smells fresh." Daphne accepted the pie with a raised eyebrow.

"It is." Before she could ask, Hermione told her the flavour. "Blueberry."

"One of my favourites."

That was a ticket, because Daphne led the way to their living room, where Hermione took off her shoes and settled on the smaller of the two sofas, waiting while Daphne grabbed two forks. They ate in companionable silence. Daphne used her baby bump to balance the pie. They were halfway finished when the blonde held the fork to her lips, and handed the pie off to Hermione.

Not that she was finished, but she clearly had something to say.

"As much as I love your pie, I know you didn't bake one just to come here and share it with me. You hardly like baking at all, unless it's someone's birthday or you're agitated." Daphne reached over and scooped up another bite. "You look like the latter. What happened?" When Hermione said nothing, Daphne sighed. " _Obviously_ something happened, so don't lie."

"Just a long day."

"How is he?"

The _he_ she was referring to was obvious. Ginny had asked her the same question, but for some reason honesty came easier with Daphne. Likely because she knew. Because she had experienced Scorpius' pain for herself. The father and son weren't the only ones who had lost someone.

"I…" Hermione exhaled a rough breath. "I've spent the _hours_ it took to prepare and bake this pie from scratch wondering how someone so small can feel _so much_. It's…"

Mind-boggling.

Heartbreaking.

_Crippling._

Watching him stumble towards the edge of falling apart only to fight and claw his way back was a different kind of pain, more than unbearable. And _worse_ , watching Scorpius compose himself as if it were a practised act made her nauseous.

Long after he had left, Hermione had struggled to stay within the boundaries she'd set up when she'd started working as Narcissa's Healer. Struggled to hold on to the belief, the idea, the fucking _delusion_ that she could keep to the outside of the Malfoy family's storm.

Honestly, she hadn't done a good job.

Hermione had stood outside the library earlier and listened to Scorpius struggle through music lessons, cringing as his nanny gently corrected him over and over until it was time for him to move on to another subject: dead languages. And he seemed to struggle through that as well with the way his tutor kept having to tell him to focus. Pay attention. Hermione had only just been able to pull herself away.

But that knowing discomfort lingered, whispering the truth that she preferred to ignore because it really wasn't her place.

As Malfoy liked to remind her, she had one patient, and Narcissa was it.

_But was it?_

The random question made Hermione remove herself completely—not only from the room, but the Malfoys' home. She'd let Zippy handle Narcissa's meals for the rest of the day, went home, pulled weeds, chased the chickens, reorganised her cupboards, and aggressively made three pies.

The third one would be a gift for Scorpius' nanny.

"I went over earlier, apparently right after you'd left." Daphne didn't look especially thrilled about the visit. "I didn't stay long. He was _not_ having a good day."

Of course not. Hermione bit her lip before asking, "Did he look at you?"

"No."

They continued eating the pie with new vigour, but Hermione could no longer taste the sweetness of the fruit or the richness of the crust. It tasted like nothing. Daphne must have felt the same way; they stopped eating almost simultaneously.

Hermione put the pie on the table and it wasn't long before she ran a hand through her hair. Daphne did something very similar, looking past her at the blank wall over her head. She grabbed Hermione's hand and held on without questioning any further.

Honestly, she thought that Daphne would be the first to crack, but in the end, it was her own frustration and heavy emotions that outweighed everything else.

"I'm frustrated," Hermione confessed abruptly. "And I'm not certain I'll be able to remain objective."

"With Narcissa?"

"No, Scorpius." Hermione sucked in a deep breath while Daphne watched her with an unreadable expression. She exhaled until she had nothing left. "I'm not always clinical, you know. I _do_ have a heart. I'm not impervious. I'm not blind nor am I deaf to a child who is crying out for help. I have _tried_ to keep my distance. Gods, I've watched this play out for an entire month, but I don't know how long I'll be able to ignore what's so blatantly happening in front of me. How don't they see?"

"Draco is too busy to see. Too distracted trying to atone for his sins and fix… well, everything to protect his family. Too overwhelmed by everything that's happened and everything that's coming at him incredibly fast." Which was an excuse, but also a reality. Hermione didn't know whether to empathise or criticise. So she did neither, continuing to listen. "And Narcissa doesn't want to see. She's wilfully ignorant to the fact that she's turning him into Draco. Blessedly, not who he was when he was a child, but who he is _now_."

"Apathetic? Pessimistic? Frustrating? Disconnected?" The list went on and on, but Hermione left it at that.

"Ah yes, all of that." Daphne shook her head. "But moreover… _lonely."_

" _How_ is Malfoy lonely? He has you all in whatever capacity he needs. He has _Scorpius_ who carries around _weeks_ worth of letters that are completely illegible to him, but does so because he's _desperate_ to know his father." Hermione took a breath, rubbing her hand across her forehead. "How _I_ see it, this is by choice: the distance he keeps and the loneliness you say he feels. He's only lonely because he chooses to be."

For just for a moment, Daphne fell silent. "It's not an excuse, that's just all he knows."

_In solitude the lonely man is eaten up by himself, among crowds by the many._

**Friedrich Nietzsche**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday and sorry for the wild ride of emotions and angst *hides* This was a complete insert chapter I'd forgotten to write, but boy was it fun to watch Draco and Hermione continue to be thrown off balance by each other. Also, lol at all the theories about Narcissa's irregularities. I was like "dang I wish I would have thought of that. HA! In the end, it was simple, an allergy. There's a lot of complexities at play with everyone, but in the center of it is Scorpius. Boy was I emotional when I wrote that scene. I had such a vivid picture in my head of it. But it's an important moment for Hermione to experience as she goes on...and the development of their relationship which is fast approaching. 
> 
> Until next week! We meet another little one we've only seen in name. Albus. (not yet for their meeting tho)
> 
> :)


	9. Let The Wild Rumpus Start!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

**  
Nine  
** _Let The Wild Rumpus Start!_

_**May 20, 2011** _

_  
Bridges._

When Hermione spared herself a moment to consider them, she realised how strange they were. Outside of exquisite architecture and meticulous buildings, bridges were a contraption of metal and wood, wire and thick rope, built to link places, people, and worlds together that had been kept apart by nature itself.

Building one was complicated—impossible without the right tools—but travelling across a bridge involved an act of faith for someone like Hermione, who was terrified of heights. To her, they posed a strange and sudden sensation of impending doom. Like flying.

Irrational, but there was nothing to be done about it.

However, as Hermione sipped her mint tea with Narcissa's Palliative Healers, Sachs and Keating, she couldn't help but also realise that the bridges could be a metaphor for what she was trying to do: band all the pieces of Narcissa's life together to create a cohesive pathway of assistance, information, and maybe even progress where none had existed before.

Building bridges had been Hermione's primary motivation behind opening her home up to Narcissa's existing team. She had originally scheduled the meeting to take place at the Malfoy home, but she'd changed her mind. Sometimes a change in scenery was beneficial to generate the desired outcome; it could help shift perspectives and potentially create the foundation necessary to build those bridges.

It was _also_ away from Narcissa's presence and influence.

The timing couldn't have been better.

Fresh off holiday, their guards were down and they were relaxed. The backdrop of the world around her cottage was just as green and alive as the plants in her conservatory they'd examined upon arrival. Hermione provided tea and fresh apple pie she'd baked after another frustrating day, but she tucked those feelings away and forced a thin smile as she politely listened to their stories about their holidays—time they had _obviously_ needed, judging by their brighter spirits.

It was already going far better than their first meeting.

Sachs had gone on a bucket list trip to Egypt while Keating spent time with family and welcomed a new grandchild she proudly showed pictures of. A girl named Helena. The bits she'd learned during their conversation would help in her ultimate quest to get to know them as individuals…

That wasn't why Hermione had extended the invitation, of course, but she was _finally_ understanding the reason behind Theo's controlled silences. Words were powerful, they could lay the groundwork, but silence was just as important.

She had to be patient. Had to watch them interact. Had to learn them in order to find a way in.

Which was something Hermione needed.

So, as they chatted with each other, she separated them and analysed each as an individual rather than a pair that worked so well together. On paper, she knew them well enough. Age. Hometown. Education. Healing Specialties. Employment history. Based on their employee files, they were qualified for the job she needed them to do, but Hermione could see the personality clash approaching from several kilometres away.

Keating was softer, more obliging and matronly in the same way as Molly. A nurturer and a follower. But Sachs was different. Bolder. More outspoken and confident—like an extremely watered down version of Narcissa. Like Keating and Narcissa, she was also traditional, but lacked the latter's poise and grace that came from years in high society. They were opposites, in every way. Sachs was a pale, greying brunette, while Keating had a beautiful olive complexion that complemented her full head of grey. They worked fluidly together thanks to experience, mutual respect, and a bond that established _years_ before.

Ultimately, Hermione realised that _Sachs_ would be her issue. But she could also be the key.

Keating would be an easy win, but if she won Sachs' favour, she wouldn't have to work hard for Keating's… and maybe they would help her win over Narcissa. Hermione pondered it. The plan was still a work in progress with issues she had to resolve in order to wiggle her way through the gap.

First order of business?

Determine the extent of their loyalty to each other and—more importantly—to Narcissa.

"Do you have any children?" Keating asked in an attempt to make conversation. She was clearly the sort that thought a good ice-breaker was a mildly invasive question about family.

With a good spirit and a polite smile, Hermione shook her head. "Three godchildren, something like one to another, but none of my own."

" _Oh._ " There was an awkward pause as Keating looked at Sachs, who had wisely picked the right moment to put all her focus into sipping her tea. The older woman cleared her throat. "Well, there's still time."

 _That_ was something people said to placate a childless woman on the wrong side of thirty. What she really meant was: your time is running out.

Had Hermione's skin been thinner, had she not already had the same conversation with her mother, the woman's words might have bothered her a great deal. As it stood, though, she brushed the comment off. Still, they didn't make for a good transition. The air around them shifted imperceptibly, a bit more awkward now tinged with discomfort.

She needed to get things back on track. Hermione had not just invited them over for tea and a chat, she also wanted to discuss their new assignments. "If I'm meant to be a mother, I'll be one. If I'm not, I already have _plenty_ of children to spoil."

Both women agreed with wordless nods. It wasn't the best response, slightly too personal for her taste—considering they were subordinates at best—but it was open enough to make her relatable in a way that was necessary to lay the foundation for what was needed.

Hermione wasn't used to working with others, at least not at the level she would be working with them, but if the last month had taught her anything, it was going to take a team effort. She couldn't do it alone.

She needed their help. Their support. Their knowledge about the family.

And, most importantly: their trust.

Which wasn't going to come easily.

"I'm glad you both had restful holidays. Have you had time to review everything I sent via owl yesterday?" The amended care plans had been _thick_. She'd given the delivery owls in Godric's Hollow two treats a piece to take them.

They both nodded.

"It was very… _detailed_."

"Do either of you have any preferences for morning or evening?" Hermione knew, just from Keating's remarks, that she hadn't read it all, but she kept that to herself. "And do you understand your duties as they pertain to each shift?"

"We've discussed it and I've agreed to take days as I've accompanied Narcissa to events in the past as an aide," Sachs spoke up. "Keating will take nights. Before you took over, we would alternate, but your manual didn't allow for such flexibility."

Hermione couldn't ignore her tone. She firmly believed that if a weed was left alone too long, it would grow and flower and spread its seeds, making her weeding situation exponentially worse. Which was why weeding had always been an essential daily activity. And while she had already weeded her garden, she apparently had more to go.

Clearing her throat, Hermione slipped her finger through the handle of her teacup, using her other hand to assist lifting it to her lips. "Before we go on, Sachs, do you have issues with my treatment methods, my presence, or just _me_?"

She took a healthy sip of tea. Lemongrass and ginger. Just the tang she needed.

Sachs blinked several times, jarred by her brazen question and stunned into silence. Keating, seated across from her, went completely still.

"I feel that the key to a successful working relationship is to create one based on respect, trust, and open communication. I sincerely hope that I haven't done or said anything that makes either of you feel as though you don't have a voice. Because you do. I considered myself to be approachable." Hermione made an easy gesture with her free hand. "Please, don't hesitate. Speak up."

After a long pause, Sachs did. "I don't have a problem at all with anything you have laid out in your treatment package, but it seems… strict. Narcissa will push back."

One could argue that her treatment was no less strict than Scorpius' schedule, but that was another thing she kept to herself. The irony of it was astounding.

"Be that as it may, it'll be your job to see that she doesn't. As she declines, she might become a different person, not the Narcissa you know. It's not an easy job going forward, so if you don't feel you can, please don't be afraid to let me know."

They both, in their own words, accepted the challenge.

Hermione took another sip. "Continuing on: the potions don't work unless they're taken both consistently and within a certain frame of time. Her condition, as well as her potions, require strict monitoring. I will also ask that you both make sure to keep notes in your notebooks. The parchment is spelled to appear on a master parchment so please monitor any fluctuations and be on the lookout for triggers to her episodes. While you trade off monitoring her days and nights, I'll be around during both, checking in, handling meals and making potions. Once we have a baseline, we can make adjustments."

Sachs picked up her fork. "I would have thought that after a month you would have been able to answer some of those questions yourself."

Hermione sat her teacup on the saucer. "Due to an undisclosed allergy to Goat's Horn, her potions have been rendered useless until two days ago. Unfortunately, I'm still trying to create a baseline."

Both looked confused. "She doesn't have any allergies."

Ah, they hadn't known either. "Apparently that's not true, as I found out a few days ago."

"From where?"

"Her son."

 _That_ got both of their attention. They went from relaxed to sitting straighter in their chairs, which made her do the same. Keating and Sachs exchanged looks. The former looked flummoxed while the latter's eyebrows lifted slowly.

"Draco helped?"

"Reluctantly." Hermione found herself wondering what they knew and how easy it might be to get them to talk about the Malfoys. Keating seemed to take her cues from Sachs, which made Hermione grimace. "He told me about the allergy and made the adjustments to her potion."

So far, her potions had been working well.

Everything hadn't quite levelled out, but last night had been the first with zero disturbances.

It was an improvement.

Hermione was as cautiously optimistic as Malfoy had been quietly cocky that morning over his black tea and daily crossword. Outside of his physical signs of exhaustion, her biggest clue to his lack of sleep had been Malfoy not reacting when she'd told him the answer to fifteen across.

 _Vexatious_.

Absolutely fitting.

She frowned with deep annoyance.

"Are they speaking again?" Keating asked, forcing Hermione to tuck the thought away.

"Not particularly." Hermione was brave enough to push the envelope. "You both have been working for the family for years. Do you know how long things have been like this between them?" Another look passed between the two women., "I only ask because I'm part of the team as well."

Which was true.

Something that was also true?

_The help knew everything._

Sachs sighed, resting back on the chair and folding her arms. They traded one last look before Keating took the lead. "I was originally caring for Astoria, the poor dear." The Healer paused for a moment. "Her parents spent an excessive amount of time and money trying to save her. She had just graduated from Hogwarts when I was hired, and they could barely afford my salary. When she married Draco, I was given a choice. Deciding to stay required me to move to France. I didn't think twice. I packed up my family and moved. I didn't want her to be alone and I didn't know what sort of man Draco was—the rumours about him were awful."

Interesting, but true. Malfoy's reputation in Wizarding London hadn't been the best—an understatement, despite his mother's beloved status.

"And what do you think of him now?"

There was a quick moment where Keating pondered her statement, but her body language didn't indicate anything except truth. "He's distant and guarded, but not unkind. They did the best they could under the circumstances."

The statement was so loaded Hermione couldn't fathom interpreting it right then.

She would need time, wine, and a whiteboard.

For now, there were hundreds of questions that passed through her mind, hundreds more options, but Hermione chose one. The first one: "Was he involved?" That question would determine if his lack of involvement in Narcissa's care was a normal thing or an exception.

"Her disease was incurable, Miss Granger, but there was a treatment that existed which slowed it down. Not enough for her to have a normal lifespan, but that wasn't good enough for her parents who wanted her cured. So, Astoria spent every spare moment of her life being experimented on. By the time she married Draco, she was _tired_ of being subjected to dangerous, experimental magic and harsh potions that would leave her sick or listless."

That sounded horrible. Hermione couldn't fathom the pain, both from disappointment and from the treatments themselves. Vaguely, she remembered Daphne explaining this to her a long time ago, but she couldn't recall many details.

"In a way, her marriage saved her from that. Draco had the decency to respect her wishes for a normal life. As far as involvement, he had more than a passing level of knowledge about her blood illness. I doubt she would have lived as long had he not made her potions himself."

Hermione froze.

 _Definitely_ an exception.

As for the rest, she filed it away with the other things that needed processing, categorising, and analysing. It would take a while.

"When did you start?" Hermione asked Sachs.

"Halfway into her pregnancy with Scorpius. Narcissa hired me exclusively for end of life care. No one expected her to live through childbirth. They were nearly correct about her _and_ Scorpius."

An awkward bubble was born deep inside Hermione and it swiftly rose to the surface. When it burst, it projected the pure, vivid image of a man who had nearly lost everything in one day—in one _instant._ The visual caused something to coil inside her, a long, slow wind that tightened uncomfortably with a small jerk. Hermione finished her tea, but it tasted like warm water.

It took another few moments to realise that Sachs was still talking. "…she was so frail after he was born but determined to be involved in raising him. Naturally, they had a Mediwitch and a nanny, but Astoria was very involved in his day-to-day care. And as he got older, she mustered the strength to teach him, despite being nearly bedridden."

Hermione _had_ to ask. "Etiquette?"

"No," Keating spoke up. "The basics that one would teach a toddler: colours, counting, letters, shapes. She hardly ever had the energy to take him outside, but she played with him, read to him all the time, and showed him everything she could. Her sister visited monthly and she would take him places. Not around too many people, of course. There were a few incidents…" Keating pressed her lips into a thin line. "Daphne stopped taking him out after the last one. Instead, she tried to bring activities _to_ him. I think that was around the time they put a telly in Astoria's quarters. Narcissa was _upset_."

Hermione found the mental image of Narcissa in a state about a telly appearing in her home hilarious. "Do they still have it?"

"I haven't seen it since the move back to London. It's probably put away along with everything else." _All of Astoria's things_. Keating looked wistful, like most caregivers thinking of a lost patient. Even when they were expecting it, it still hurt. "Narcissa would never allow it in the house. She only tolerated it because Draco—well, things were sour with them long before Scorpius was born. Partly had to do with Narcissa's treatment of her."

"You're speculating." There was a hard set to Sachs' narrowed eyes. "Draco was hardly around."

"He was around when he could," Keating clarified after catching sight of Hermione's raised eyebrow. "He also helped when he could, but…" The woman's sigh was one of someone who had a lot to say, but didn't quite know how to phrase it. "I think he spent more time on security and warding than anything."

"As he should have," Sachs said. "I _still_ have scars on my hands from that poison."

Hermione blinked, then took a sharp look at Sachs' hands.

The similarity between her scars and Molly's was—

Keating blinked down at her partner's hands and took a deep breath. She got back on subject. "Narcissa's education didn't start until after Astoria reached the point of no return."

Sachs made a small noise after taking a sip of tea. "My opinion is that had she allowed Narcissa to help with Scorpius earlier, she might have taken better care of herself and lived longer. But as it was, she dedicated every ounce of energy she could to raise him and shut Narcissa out until she absolutely had no choice in the matter."

Having seen her strict treatment of Scorpius, Hermione honestly couldn't—

"Can you blame her?"

For a split second, Hermione wondered if _she'd_ asked the question that had been on her mind. How _embarrassing._ But then she realised that _no, she hadn't_.

It had come from Keating.

There was a frown on her face and she was gripping her teacup with both hands; a complete opposite to Sachs who had nearly finished her pie.

And there it was.

The divide.

* * *

_**May 21, 2011** _

  
Hermione woke up in stages.

She found she was in no rush to start the day after a late night with Padma and Susan in the conservatory, drinking elf-made wine and chatting about the ins and outs of work at St Mungo's—something they couldn't do when everyone else was around as they found their work stories dull. Hermione felt good, despite the lack of sleep, deciding to lie there for a while and watch the sun creep across the floor towards the bed. Fortunately, she hadn't bothered to shut the drapes, and she was catching a glimpse of a glorious sunrise.

The promise of it pulled her from the bed and into her bath, where she showered before pulling her hair back into a purposefully messy bun. Opting for comfortable clothes, she laced up her Wellies and headed downstairs for tea. She also needed to check on Narcissa's enchanted parchment.

A second night of stable readings was more than enough proof that the corrected potion was working.

From the readings, it appeared she was still sleeping.

_Good._

Today was the first day back for Keating and Sachs. Hermione made a mental reminder to visit Keating tonight and draw her into conversation. Perhaps during the day tomorrow, she would go over to check on Sachs.

A solid plan all around.

With that done, Hermione decided to check on the sun's journey into the morning sky, but first she took a call from her mother who asked her what she was doing.

"About to start in the garden."

"Sounds lovely, dear." There was a noise in the background and it sounded like her dad. "Oh, never you mind." He must have realised she was still on the phone. "Sorry about that, love. Your dad has _opinions_." Whatever that meant, Hermione knew better than to ask because she would never get an answer.

Not from her dad, at least.

"Anyway, I was calling to check and see if you were free for dinner Thursday. We'll be leaving for Greece in a couple of weeks and thought it would be lovely to see you before we go."

Hermione blinked at the change in plans. The change in the schedule they had adhered to for _years_. It was a welcomed surprise that filled her with a hope. " _Oh!_ Of course."

"Wonderful. See you then!"

Farewells were exchanged before Hermione hung up the phone. With a pep in her step, she ventured around the conservatory, caring for the plants scheduled for Saturday watering and even those who were greedy and dry when they shouldn't be.

By the time she started pruning the climbing roses, the sun had really begun to make an appearance, brightening all corners of the room… and further lifting her spirit.

It was a lovely sight to behold.

Both the conservatory from above and the world beyond the window.

Peaceful and quiet.

The morning sky was blue with streaks of orange, reds, and yellows, and cloudless for a change as the last couple of days had been grey, heavy and drizzly. Well, at least until yesterday afternoon when it had cleared up. Typical for the season and her location, but today was a treat.

Hermione looked around the orderly room.

She'd done enough work. It was time to enjoy the view.

After climbing down her ladder, she put it away and curled on her chaise by the full-length window with a fresh cup of tea and a book she'd been working through over the last week. She was truly ready to enjoy the view of her growing garden, the greenhouse a short walk away, and the pasture that led to the edge of the forest in the distance. After a long look, she opened her battered copy of _The Book Thief_ and picked up where she'd left off.

The sun was a good deal higher in the sky when she heard her Floo come to life and felt the tingling of her wards announcing the arrival of two people. After tucking her bookmark between the pages, Hermione ventured back into the living room to find her guests patiently waiting.

Well, not the smaller of the two.

As she stepped through the door and into her kitchen, she had just enough time after hearing " _Auntie 'Mione!"_ to shut the door behind her before a child-sized blur appeared, wearing a Cannon jersey, jeans, and Velcro trainers. The blur named Albus Potter practically launched himself at her legs, hugging them tightly and almost knocking her off balance.

"Oof!" Hermine breathed out a laugh when he didn't let go. "Well, hello to you too, Al."

"Hi!" The little boy's word sounded more like a squeak.

Harry, meanwhile, just chuckled from his spot in front of the fireplace, shaking his head in amusement as he sat Albus' bag on the sofa. "Hey."

"It's only been a week!" She ruffled his soft but messy brown hair. "Missed me much?"

"Yes!" he answered, still holding on.

"He's not lying." His father crossed into the kitchen and approached them. "He woke us up at five, and was already dressed with his bag packed for the day. Quite determined." Harry gave Albus a fond look. The little boy raised his head, peering up at her with a big grin, flushed cheeks, and bright green eyes. "Sorry we're so early."

"No bother at all." She looked down and smiled. "Did you eat?"

Albus shook his head.

She made an exaggerated face, pretending to think _very_ deeply. "I _might_ have a bit more of that strawberry jam Deloris made." At that, his eyes lit up more. "We can have eggs and toast with jam. How do you feel about bacon?"

"Yes, please!"

Hermione grinned. "Okay, go wash your hands and I'll let you help make breakfast."

Off he ran, back through the living room and up the stairs to the guest bath upstairs where his stool had a permanent home so he could reach the sink. They both watched him go, then Harry grinned. "He'll be gone for ten minutes, tops."

"Yep."

They both chuckled.

"Thanks again, Hermione."

"Stop thanking me, I love having Albus over. James and Lily, too." Even though all three together were chaotic at best. She had no idea how Harry and Ginny managed. Years of practice, she supposed. When she had all three, Hermione would sleep for hours after they left, truly worn out. "They're fun and a big help in the vegetable patch. What are you all doing today?"

"Errands mostly, but we're taking the kids to the Aquarium and then to Diagon Alley this afternoon. I asked Al if he wanted to go, but when Ginny said he could come here, even though it wasn't his week, he was hell bent." Harry shrugged. "What's on your agenda?"

"Weeding mostly, but I've got to clean the chicken coop. We'll picnic in the pasture, too. Last time, he wanted me to read _Where the Wild Things Are_ and _Scaredy Squirrel_ , so I'll do that before we take a walk towards the forest."

"Ah." Harry fixed his glasses and gave her a look as he leaned against the kitchen island. "He said he's ready this week. Let me know if he makes it, yeah? It's all he's talked about."

"Will do." After a moment's hesitation, Hermione gave her best friend a knowing look as she folded her arms. "How's it going with Malfoy?"

The question made him sigh, despite the fact that it had been just over a week since their compromise in his office. She had no idea if his response was good or not.

"It's not going _horribly_ , if that's what you're asking. We've started quietly training Teams D and E together. We let Hestia in enough for her to create the cover. Malfoy found a training room and warded the hell out of it. It's going well enough. Malfoy is…" Harry frowned, unwilling to continue on that train of thought. "We've scheduled a meeting with Team C on Monday."

"Then why the sigh?"

"Because it's Malfoy." Harry's statement was deeply relatable. "He's frustrating."

"That he is."

Harry was silent for a moment. "I will say he's been _far_ more tolerable than usual. Also, he's not so horrible as a teacher. Yet for some reason, I _still_ have the urge to hex him—repeatedly."

"A natural reaction." Hermione patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. "There, there."

Mending bridges wasn't the easiest thing to do. It also wasn't something that could be done in a week or two with a few positive interactions. It would take time and a conscious effort from them both. Whether it would extend past the completion of their job of eradicating the threat of Death Eaters, Hermione had no idea. She refused to speculate or give it much consideration.

"Regardless, I'm just glad I was able to help." She cleared her throat, tentatively touching on a subject she was curious about. "How has he been the last… _say,_ week or so?"

"A bit off, but I can't tell how." He looked at her oddly. "Why?"

"No reason." It was a quick lie and Harry didn't look convinced. He crossed his arms, which made her poke at the topic a little harder. Might as well; he was already slightly suspicious anyway. "He told me that he's doing the nighttime canvassing in Wales?"

Harry's eyebrow disappeared into his hairline. "He told you that?"

"Yes."

The look he gave her was oddly probing, but Harry was no Theo—or even Malfoy—so she returned his stare comfortably until he shrugged.

"He volunteered to handle them. The Task Force is…" He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Malfoy's trying to wrangle them together before someone gets killed. He believes there's a hideout nearby, and based on the number of low-level Death Eaters they've caught in the last couple of days, I think he's right. We were supposed to report to the Wizengamot, but all security briefings have been suspended as Tiberius goes through each department and questions people about the restoration movement."

"It has a name?"

"I have no idea. I'm not allowed to know anything, apparently."

"Then how do you know _that_?"

Harry smiled and they both started laughing—but not for long. When her best friend ran his fingers through his messy hair, she _knew_ that he was trying to approach a topic he was unsure about, and gave him a look that basically told him to spit it out. "That day, in my office…"

"What about it?"

"That's probably the most Malfoy has spoken since we caught Rockwood. Usually, it's all one-sided conversation where he hates all my ideas, but doesn't offer any reason for the things he suggests. Like the pureblood Ward Specialist? Had he actually said that, I would have understood. I might have even agreed!"

He wasn't wrong. There was a deep communication issue between them, which had a lot to do with their fundamental differences—not to mention their history.

"Not to make excuses for him, but what did you expect? Didn't you have a row with him your first week?"

Harry looked slightly ashamed of himself. "Okay, yes… but—"

"It happened." Hermione shrugged casually. "Not your finest moment, but Malfoy didn't have to be an enormous prat in the aftermath. Let's call it a tie and start over. Leave it in the past. That's all you can do if you truly want this collaboration to be successful. I know both of you are anxious to be rid of the Death Eaters. I am too. They're getting too close for comfort, especially with the children."

"And _your_ threats aren't too close for comfort? Theo told me about two more attempted security breaches in the last month."

 _Of course Theo did._ Harry gave her a look and she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"The fact that you and Theo discuss me behind my back is aggravating."

"If you want details, it happens over—" Hermione shoved him in the arm, which only made him laugh. "Don't act like you don't use Deloris to keep tabs on me."

"That's not the point."

"But it is. Just like the threats concerning my kids, they're also too close to you—"

" _I_ can protect myself. James, Al, and Lily— _they_ can't. Malfoy's probably having similar thoughts about his family, hence his extensive attention to security."

"You're right." With another sigh, her best friend rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're both on the same side now, with a common enemy," she reminded him as she slid into the space next to him, angled towards her friend. "I'm not saying become friends with him, but there's more common ground between you two than battleground. You're both fathers with children and _families_ who are facing the same threat. I don't know the extent of Malfoy's issues with Death Eaters, or what's happened while they were in France, but from what little I do know, it wasn't easy. And I know everything with Molly and the kids… it's been difficult for everyone. If Malfoy is paranoid enough to work a job for free to avoid being a sitting duck, I just—"

"You _really_ should have taken that Liaison position before they offered it to Malfoy." Harry gave her a sidelong glance. "Would have made life easier."

Hermione rolled her eyes after bumping his shoulder with hers. "You'd just rather work with me over Malfoy. Admit it."

"True, but also, you'd be good at it. You're capable of looking at an argument from both sides."

Hermione gave a half-shrug. "Perhaps, but I'm not always right, nor do I always have the right answer. I have my point of view, and will express that through my words. With that being said, I actually think it's good that I'm not working with you."

"Oh?" Harry's brow rose over the rim of his glasses.

"Yeah." She thought back to her conversation with Theo. "I'm not a challenge for you and we've been through so much together that our perspectives are too similar. We generally agree on most things, and even when we don't, we still manage to find common ground. Malfoy is that different perspective, Harry, and he's also a test for you."

Really, Malfoy was testing them _both_.

The thought made Hermione frown. Meanwhile, Harry's scoff was one part annoyance and one part sceptical amusement. "A test? That's an understatement."

She chuckled quietly. "Maybe so, but Theo said something that made me think. From working with his mother—and by extension him—perhaps sometimes we need to be challenged in order to grow as people. It's the only way we learn and the only way _you'll_ prove that you're a capable leader to anyone who doubts you."

They fell into a short, companionable silence, where Harry reflected and she listened out for Al, who had a tendency to play in the sink when he was supposed to be washing his hands. She'd give him another minute.

"You're right." He let out a deep sigh. "Any Malfoy advice?"

"I've got _no_ idea how to read him—" At her best friend's disbelief, because she always had a grasp on most people and their motivations, she held up a hand. "No seriously, I don't. Think about it. It's not like Malfoy to be up-front with anything. I mean, think about it, you basically had to stalk him around Hogwarts to glean information. What makes you think he's any different as an adult? We know _less_ about him now than we did then."

Harry merely shrugged, clearly not ashamed about his past actions. She couldn't deny he'd had his reasons—right or wrong. But his face shifted momentarily as he turned his curious green eyes on her. He didn't even bother hiding his continued scepticism. "Really? You seemed to have a handle on him in my office. He _actually_ listened to you instead of calling you an idiot."

She scoffed with a dismissive roll of her eyes. "From what little he _does_ know of me, not even _Malfoy_ could, in good faith, call me an idiot. On any scale."

At that, he laughed and tossed his head back. Hermione couldn't help but smile at the response.

"That's true." Harry's crooked grin reminded her of Albus when he found something both surprising and funny. "If it means something, I think he's trying to figure you out, too—and he's stumped."

Hermione barely suppressed her recoil, but found herself shocked by his statement; a flare of unfamiliar warmth shot through her veins. But a quick rub at the back of her neck was her only outward reaction. "What makes you think that?"

"He watches you." With a shrug, Harry glanced at his watch as they both heard Al's footsteps approaching.

"Malfoy's observant. "

"Yeah, but it's like he's waiting for you to say something that doesn't ring true, something that isn't straight. Anyway, I should head back. I left Ginny to sort breakfast. James and Lily were arguing about who should get the last of the juice."

Which meant Ginny was about to break both of their spirits and drink it all herself.

In front of them.

She would call it a lesson about compromise.

Harry would likely return to a house of pouting children and a wife who was supremely proud of herself. "One of us will come by and pick him up later."

"Take your time." Hermione waved him off as Al made his appearance, holding onto the railing.

His shirt was soaked, so she already knew he'd been splashing around in the sink.

Hermione chuckled to herself as she went to the refrigerator to pull out eggs, bacon, and cameo apples Neville had brought by last weekend. Peering in her breadbox that was under a stasis charm, she picked out the bread she'd just baked the previous morning, and found it perfectly fresh.

Harry, meanwhile, used his wand to dry his son's shirt before kneeling down and hugging Al, who never ran from affection like James. The little boy only grinning when his dad kissed him on the forehead. It was nice. Harry never once hesitated to show Albus—or any of his children—the affection he hadn't grown up with.

"Have fun today."

"I will, Dad!"

Albus was at her side before Harry could leave through the Floo. Step stool acquired from the closet, the five-year-old was ready to crack the eggs.

"Remember how I showed you?" Hermione placed the bowl in front of him and summoned a fork.

The young boy eagerly nodded. "I can do it."

Of course he could. She had no doubt about it.

Fears and wariness around strangers aside, Al had an independent streak a kilometre long that he'd inherited from his father, along with a healthy dose of obstinacy from both of his parents. When Hermione handed him the egg, she stood behind him, not hovering, but watching as he gently tapped it on the edge of the countertop just like she'd taught him. Then he broke open it over the bowl. A little heavy-handed, as she quickly picked out a few shells, but overall, it had been a job well done. Hermione took a moment to celebrate with him by letting him do the second egg.

And third.

* * *

In almost no time, she and Albus were eating breakfast at the table in the conservatory, enjoying the slow crawl of the sun across the morning sky. By then, he had settled into his normal bundle of content energy and was on his knees in his chair because it was easier for him to reach. His fork usage was spotty, at best, as he licked jam off his fingers and created a mess on his face.

Between—and sometimes during—bites, he chattered about every pertinent event from his week. Which was basically _every second of every day_. Hermione listened along as she ate, smiling when he told her about something good, asking questions that made his entire face light up, and making sure she looked engaged, even though she had no idea what he was saying during the parts the young boy sped through with frenetic energy.

"Can I play with the chickies today?" Albus finished his apple juice, licking his lips. He was mostly done eating, just a bit more to go. The area around his mouth was a sticky mess, but he looked pleased with himself.

She left him be. For now.

"Well, you happen to be in luck." His eyes widened in barely concealed excitement. "I've got to clean the coop out, so you'll need to feed them while I work, okay?"

"Okay."

"After we're done, we can weed the garden and water the plants in the greenhouse. How's that sound?"

"Fun!" Albus smiled, reaching for his fork with his left hand.

"So, when you finish up, you've got to clean your face and hands then we can get started, okay?"

"Okay!"

Hermione stood, picking up her dish and cup. "Don't forget to bring yours in when you're finished."

"I won't!" Al beamed as he continued eating the last few bites of his meal. He dropped a piece of egg on his shirt, picked it up, and ate it. _Boys._ Exactly how Ginny kept his and James' clothes clean, she had no idea, but it likely involved a good amount of magic. After shaking her head and chuckling at the sight of him licking the jam off his toast as opposed to eating it, Hermione gave him one last lingering look before leaving him there to happily finish his breakfast.

It didn't take long.

By the time she was putting her teacup away, Al came inside, balancing his breakfast dishes.

She went to help him, but he insisted he could do it himself. And she let him, moving his little step stool over in front of the sink so he could do his own washing. She made him wash his hands while she wet a fresh dish towel with warm water to wipe his face. Naturally, Al grouched and complained, but was pretty good-natured about it once she told him the bugs were going to eat him up if he came outside sticky sweet.

After putting the clean dishes away, Hermione clasped her hands together, snickering when he did the same. "Now, what shall we do first?"

The five-year-old threw his hands up. "Chickies!"

And that's what they did.

Hermione had never intended to own chickens, but back in January, when a wizard had offered to barter three newly-hatched chickens for the rest of the vegetables she'd brought to the market in Godric's Hollow, she couldn't pass up the idea of fresh eggs every day. She didn't require much or many. How hard could it have been anyway?

Famous last words.

For the Brightest Witch of her Age, raising chicks had ended up being a lot more of an undertaking than she'd anticipated. She made more than a few errors along the way, but once they were big enough in late February, Neville had built a dedicated area for them to roam (outside her garden), equipped with their own chicken coop. No one was happier than Pansy, who had threatened to end their friendship over the fact that she'd kept baby chicks in her spare bath for a month under warming charms while they were growing.

They'd warded the coop against cold, weather, and predators, and the three chickens were thriving. Each of Harry's kids had named one—Zazu, Iago, and Pink (courtesy of Lily's favourite colour and word). Last week, Al had asked if there were going to be more baby chickens for him to cuddle.

The answer? Not if she could help it.

At least not right then.

Hermione cleaned out the small coop and Vanished the mess, lining the floor with old Prophets and hay and refilling their water and fresh feed with a wave of her wand. Meanwhile, Al fed the chickens scraps she'd given him, played with them, talked to them about anything he could think of, and walked around their enclosed area while they toddled after him obediently.

The sight was adorable, especially when he sat down and the three competed for his attention.

But he just loved them all, looking deliriously happy.

Soon enough, they got bored with him and started eating, but by then her task was complete.

"Did you have fun?" Hermione asked once he ran over to her at the gate.

Al nodded with a goofy grin, trailing after her out the enclosure. "They're so big!"

Hermione led the way back into her garden and helped him into his gloves before putting hers on. With a little direction, they worked under the rising sun. It was nice outside, the perfect day to be out, and Al was loving the fresh air. And the weed pulling.

He was pretty excellent at it.

"Next time," Hermione told him as they worked. "They'll be a little bit bigger."

Al gasped. "Bigger than me?"

"No, never." Noting the look of relief on his face, she tapped her gloved finger against his nose, which made him giggle before he refocused on pulling the weeds.

Just like she taught him.

His small hands combined with the softer earth from the rain gave him just enough of what he needed to succeed. When he held up the weed to show her, root still intact, the look on his flushed face was pure pride.

She grinned with him. "Good job, Al!"

Using their hands and a bit of magic, they worked for almost two hours to complete the task. Or she did. Al ended up going back to the chicken enclosure to run around with them before flopping onto the magical hammock and napping in the breeze.

It was just past noon when she finished, and Al was ready for lunch. But first, he wanted to see if any of the fruit in the greenhouse was ripe enough to eat.

To his disappointment, they weren't.

She made sandwiches, cut up fruit, and packed crisps into a picnic basket before grabbing her outdoor blanket, sunglasses for them both, and allowing Al to carry the books he wanted to read. He picked a spot in the middle of the pasture behind her house that put them in the direct sun. Together, they laid out the multi-coloured blanket and sat with their legs folded under them as they ate. Al talked his heart out between bites—he never got to say much around the much louder James or younger Lily.

Here Al had a chance to speak his mind.

Hermione enjoyed the warmth of the sun as she listened.

It wasn't long after they finished that they stretched out on the blanket with a book held aloft, blocking the sun from blinding her, despite the tint of her sunglasses. Al curled up against her and laid his head on the crook of her arm as she read _Where The Wild Things Are_ to him for what felt like the hundredth time.

It was his favourite book.

" _And the wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws."_

Like he'd never heard it before, Al gasped and covered his eyes.

"Do you want me to stop?" Hermione knew the answer.

The little boy uncovered his eyes long enough to turn the page. "No."

With a tiny grin, she continued on until she finished and he clapped his small hands. She only sat up long enough to pick up the second book and place the first next to her. Al's second choice was a book she purchased for him called _The Scaredy Squirrel_.

" _I never leave my nut tree. It's way too dangerous out there. I could encounter germs, poison ivy, or sharks. If danger comes along, I'm prepared. I have antibacterial soap, Band-Aids, and a parachute."_

Albus giggled his way through the book, as always, and Hermione reminded herself to read him the second in the series next in an attempt to help normalise his fears, and help him overcome them one by one. Starting with the first one. His biggest one.

The forest.

He must have been gathering his nerve while she read because as soon as Hermione finished, Al was getting to his feet. "Can we walk now?"

"Of course, love."

They left their things at the blanket and walked towards the edge of the forest with the breeze blowing both their hair, untamed as ever. Al was quiet, as always, slipping his smaller hand into hers as he braved on, mouth set in determination. Hermione never once forced him on these walks. It was something he initiated. A challenge to himself. Her wards extended into the trees and James went into the forest all the time with Harry, Lily too. Albus wanted to be brave enough to join them.

So on they walked, closer and closer to the place of his fears.

As always, behind her sunglasses, Hermione watched him more than she focused on the sunny day and greenery around them, reading the subtle cues he gave off and noting each milestone they made. The first part was always easiest and he smiled up at her before running ahead.

Until the point where he got a little nervous.

Then he waited for her.

Reached out to hold her hand.

Before long, he let her hand go long enough to pick up the marker of where they had last stopped, holding on to it as the forest loomed closer. Al was now slowly walking, lagging behind to the point where Hermione slowed down with him.

"It's okay, Al, we can stop."

"I'm okay." She heard the tremble in his voice.

Still, they pressed on, walking more than a hundred paces past the last marked spot before Al finally squeezed her hand and stopped. He was looking up at the tall trees. They were so close she could hear the sounds of the forest. Smell it. Al pushed the little Cannons flag they used as a marker into the soft earth as a reminder of how far they'd come. Hermione was bursting with pride for his new milestone, but today he seemed sadder than usual.

And she had an inkling as to why.

_Disappointment._

"Come now, sit." Hermione tugged him down gently.

They both sat right there on the same path they did every other Saturday. Al was facing her, looking closer to tears than she'd seen him in a long time. Frustration. Hermione lifted his chin with her finger, using her thumb to rub his flushed cheek and wipe away the tear that slipped from under his sunglasses.

"You've done brilliant, Albus." When he shrugged sadly and more frustrated tears fell, she took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt. His lip quivered as he struggled not to cry. "You know I think you're brave, right?"

Al's pouty face scrunched up adorably. "But I'm _scared_ and James says I'm a baby and—"

"You're scared yet you walk with me anyway. In my opinion, that makes you _brave_."

His eyes widened in child-like wonder. "It does?"

"Yes!" Hermione patted her knees and he crawled into her lap; he was almost too big. One day he would be for those moments and it made her momentarily sad. Nostalgic. But she shook it off and brushed the hair from his face before wrapping him up in a comforting hug. She felt his small arms around her and rested her chin on his forehead, speaking to him softly. "You're brave because you get scared, but keep going. You never give up."

It was truly what she loved best about Al: his determination.

It reminded her so much of Harry.

"My dad says never give up and I won't."

No, he wouldn't. Hermione was more confident of that than she was of most things.

She held him in silence, stroking his hair as he went through his emotions about not making it. When Al started to stir, she asked, "When we get there, what do you want to do first?"

"Climb trees!" It was the same answer he gave every visit and he sounded much better than he had before.

"And _that's_ what we'll do. Your dad and Neville will build you, James, and Lily the _best_ treehouse. I'll bring you sandwiches and juice while you three play."

"But what if it's not James _or_ Lily?"

Hermione frowned in confusion. "Who else would you play with in your treehouse?"

Albus thought about it for a long minute. "I don't know… a friend?"

* * *

The rest of the day passed too quickly, but Hermione enjoyed every second of the energy Albus brought into her house. His presence kept her focused; it kept the troubling thoughts about a second boy at bay.

_For now._

She got to continue her morning reading by the stream in front of her house, watching him play and splash around in the lazy flowing water that went to the knees of the jeans she'd rolled up in an effort to keep them dry (she'd failed). He was less occupied with rock collecting, more interested in trying and failing to catch the small fish that avoided him at all cost.

Much to her horror, Albus _had,_ however, caught a small frog and brought it into the house.

And lost it.

It took ten minutes of panic before Hermione found it, and together they sent it back home into the great outdoors.

"Bye, Mr Frog." Al waved enthusiastically as it hopped towards the water's edge.

Neville would have been amused.

Hermione spent the rest of their afternoon together testing him on the names of plants she'd taught him on his last visit and teaching him some new ones. Al was intelligent and, more importantly, motivated to learn. They worked on reading, addition and subtraction, and the schoolwork that he was struggling with. She even approached the tough subject of school itself.

"No one likes me," Albus confessed with a shrug that looked as casual as it wasn't. His eyes were sad, shining with unshed tears. Then he cuddled against her on the sofa. "I try."

" _I_ like you, and…" Hermione trailed off, occupied by fresh thoughts of Scorpius. Albus looked at her curiously. Her smile was tinged with sadness he seemed to notice. He stared at her, patiently waiting for her to finish. "I know another boy out there who will like you, too."

That grabbed his attention. "Really? A friend?"

"Maybe." Hermione swallowed thickly. Green eyes were focused on her. It reminded her so much of Scorpius wanting to know more about his father. She held onto Albus a little tighter and rested her cheek on his messy brown hair. "Do you want to know about him?"

"Yes."

Then Albus shifted away, turning to her and Hermione tapped her finger against her chin. "Hmm, he's five, like you." Al's face broke into a grin while she found herself scrambling to recall little details about Scorpius. Admittedly, she didn't know him well. "He likes books."

"I like books, too!"

Ruffling his hair, Hermione smiled softly. "Yes, you do, love. But he's quiet. He doesn't talk."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." It was an honest answer, if not a complete one. Al remained in pensive silence for several seconds longer than expected. Then he nodded like he'd made a decision. "What is it?"

"I can be friends." And there was that determination in his eyes.

"Oh? What do you know about being friends?"

"Being nice and sharing and—and—can we count now?"

Hermione laughed at the abrupt change of subject. "Sure, but why so suddenly?"

Albus blushed. "I want to get it right so I can show my new friend."

There were moments when she found herself in awe of Albus Potter. It boggled her mind how anyone could make fun of someone so kind. Children were cruel sometimes, but not Al. Never Al. And so Hermione counted to twenty with him in French and German—something he'd learned in the Nursery School he hated—and she even let him pick out a film to watch.

Not that it mattered, Al fell asleep before the opening credits, tuckered out from his day.

Harry returned to collect him right when Hermione finished making him a treat for the next day. His favourite: lemon cake with strawberries. She'd made enough to share with his siblings, but she was certain there was plenty from him.

"How was he?" Harry asked after he crept past his son. The telly in the corner of the room next to the fireplace was muted and Al was still bundled under the blanket she'd covered him with earlier.

"Excellent as usual. We made it closer today."

"Yeah?" Harry's proud smile reminded her so much of Al.

She nodded and handed him the container with the cake. "Yes, just over a hundred paces closer. It's probably the biggest jump he's made since he started, but he's frustrated with himself." Hermione paused. "I need to talk to you about something." Which made Harry grow serious. "Not about Al, he's great, but… I think I have a solution to your socialisation problem."

"Oh?"

"You're not going to like it." Hermione glanced over at the sleeping figure. "But I think he needs a smaller space to meet a friend. One-on-one. It may boost his confidence. And, I have a suggestion."

Then she _smiled_.

Harry's suspicion was tangible. "Hermione, the last time you looked like that I ended up on an albino dragon."

Which was incredibly fair.

"But did you die?"

Harry winced. "I mean, _technically_ —" Then he looked around the room to ignore the well-deserved glare he'd earned from her. Finally, his acquiescence came in the form of a sigh. "Fine, who is it?"

"Malfoy's son is his age."

His recoil was so dramatic it was comical. "Is _that_ why you made a cake? Ginny said you made sad pie when I took Al to the planetarium."

"Partially, and it wasn't completely sad, it was blueberry. Lily's favourite." Harry squinted further. "I already know what you're going to say, but if I could state my argument. I think it could be a good idea."

Harry ran his hand through his hair three times then huffed. "Look, Dean already says he's a lot different from Malfoy, which is fine. Okay, I'm not going to say no because his dad is a wanker who's decided to be moderately tolerant in the last week. But do you _honestly_ think either of us will survive a playdate? Much less _scheduling_ one?"

No, but she would pay all the Galleons in her vault just to witness that conversation. Hermione was barely able to hold back her amusement at the mental picture.

"Al's already excited."

If at all possible, Harry looked even _more_ stressed. "Oh, Merlin! I'm _doomed_."

"You're being dramatic." Hermione grinned too wide, but in all likelihood, he was right. Once Al latched onto something, he would never let anyone forget it. "I could host?"

The look he gave her was long-suffering at best. "I make no promises for a quick turnaround, but I'll discuss it with Gin, then I suppose I'll approach Malfoy." He looked like he'd rather drink magma from the core of the Earth. "If it happens, you have to stay."

Hermione just laughed. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

* * *

When Hermione stepped out of the Floo, it was just after nine, too late to be considered evening but too early to be called night, a weird, nameless time between the two. That she had found herself in the Malfoys house at such a time had long since lost its shock value, but the real surprise was that everything looked exactly the same right then as it did at five in the morning.

Cold. Empty. Quiet.

Devoid of character and identity.

It wasn't a home.

Just brick and wood, held together by nails and plaster, constructed into a nicely furnished dwelling, albeit divided.

And that truth was easier to ignore in the early hours of morning. Easier not to look at the lack of personality in favour of putting on the kettle and cooking, with Malfoy serving as an opinionated distraction in glasses. Easier still to ignore the plain walls when Narcissa complained about each meal while simultaneously enjoying the food, even during her irritable moments when she was snappish, when she stared at nothing. Even easier to ignore a home that was too sterile when Scorpius waited for her to move his glass from right to left, and watched her until she waved goodbye like it _meant_ something to him.

Because it was beginning to mean more to her.

There was life in those moments.

_Hope._

She never saw it in the moment, too caught up in analysis and action, but she knew that, even in darkness, hope was something that could be found anywhere. She just had to look for it. And _keep_ finding it each day, during each interaction.

The same applied to her own life. To her own struggles. And Hermione did just that with the Malfoys, discovering tendrils of it in the most uncanny places, reaching for her. It breathed new life into her spirit and strengthened her bones.

But there was also something to be said about the hope found in _healing_. It made the days easier for Hermione, who needed the tiny shreds of it found in those moments.

Without hope, there was no determination. Without determination, there was nothing. And having _nothing_ would make her job very, _very_ hard.

 _Nothing_ wouldn't provide the inspiration Narcissa needed to fight to accomplish her goals.

No matter how much Hermione disagreed with some of them. That wasn't her place. And so, she persisted.

Though crippled and barely visible, Hermione held onto each string of hope in order to see past the bleak grief, past the loneliness and pain, and past the family's problems. Problems that flowed like a river: on and on, in search of a sea it never found. All it did was gather sediments, which were slowly muddying the waters of her opinions, and those waters could only be purified by looking through the lens of the distance that separated them.

Hermione sighed to the empty room.

Tonight it felt extra cold and lonely.

Enough to propel Hermione in the direction of Narcissa's quarters.

Just before she knocked, a slice of light farther down the hall drew her attention.

Malfoy's office.

The light meant that the door was open. He was home and the fact that she found that odd made her cringe internally.

Hermione had every intention of ignoring it _and_ him. She planned to knock on Narcissa's door and be accepted into the room by Keating.

But, as it often did, curiosity got the better of her.

With light, careful steps, she made sure not to announce herself too soon on the creaking wood. An odd feeling accompanied her, building with each step down a dimly lit hall, keeping her close to the blank wall. Her mind began to spin in anticipation of what she might see as dozens of scenarios played in her head.

Malfoy in his glasses working. Or reading. Or scowling as he prepared to shut the door in her face. Maybe he would talk. Or argue. Or not even look up when he flexed the fingers needed to spell the door shut.

Anything was possible with him so Hermione prepared for it all.

In the end, reality was different from anything she had anticipated. What she happened upon was a sight mind-bogglingly normal, yet it still managed to blow all her working knowledge of him out of the water.

Malfoy stood beside the chair in front of his desk that faced the door with a hand on his chin. His emerald signet ring stood out amongst the black of his clothing. There was a frown marring his expression, not angry, but there was some sort of hesitance in it that gave Hermione pause. She was used to seeing surface emotions of cold annoyance and defensiveness coupled with confidence and that little unidentifiable bit of him that made her want to slap him. But this vacant expression of doubt? Indecision?

_This was new._

Malfoy looked as if he were attempting advanced Arithmancy with no parchment—an impossible feat. And when Hermione stepped closer, when she stopped focusing on him and turned to look for what had given him pause, she finally noticed what—no, _who_ —was the reason behind the expression.

Scorpius.

Wearing navy pajamas with gold snitches racing around, he had awkwardly fallen asleep in the oversized chair with his knees drawn to his chest and a familiar dictionary open, haphazardly pressed against the cushion, pages wrinkled. Hermione silently tsked at his bare feet, noting one was tucked under the other. He was probably cold. His little head rested against the cushion, hair sleep-mussed, and his thumb was in his mouth. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but it looked uncomfortable despite being adorable enough to make Hermione smile.

Children had a habit of falling asleep anywhere.

_Would Malfoy leave him there?_

Perhaps not.

Malfoy slowly and carefully extracted the dictionary from his son's grip, freezing when Scorpius shifted in his sleep as he brought his second arm around himself. Seconds passed before Scorpius settled again. Malfoy seemed to calculate each move before he made it.

He quietly shut the book and placed it on his desk without making a sound.

With that out of the way, he adjusted his glasses and returned to how Hermione had found him.

Hand on his chin, mouth tight, brows furrowed.

Pensive.

He focused on Scorpius much like he did his crosswords. Then he moved. Only now, with the book gone, he wasn't _nearly_ as confident, nor did he appear to have a clear plan. Hermione watched as he reached, paused, moved towards Scorpius again, then wavered. It was like a dance of contemplation, of uncertainty, one where Malfoy never hazarded too close but didn't venture too far either.

What he was trying to do dawned on Hermione so suddenly she felt silly for not realising it all along. Malfoy was trying to be careful. Trying to plot, calculate, and solve one problem.

His only problem.

_How could he pick up Scorpius without waking him?_

And that was hilariously… ordinary. And strange. And… woefully _human_.

Hermione bit her lip in an attempt to push back a myriad of reactions that blended together, melted into shocked amusement, and then evaporated. She was currently standing in a reality where she found herself witnessing something that wouldn't have been a private moment for anyone else.

But Draco Malfoy wasn't anyone.

There was a wall around him that kept everyone out—a thick one built and reinforced with years of commitment. Seeing him awkwardly try to figure out how to pick up his sleeping son felt like an invasion of privacy, a step past a different sort of line. There was wading closer to the Malfoys storm and then there was launching herself into the eye of it.

Not the most strategic or the wisest of moves.

Rather than wait until he noticed her, she decided to leave Malfoy to it. But she didn't move. At least not fast enough to miss hearing him sigh right before crouching next to the chair. With a slowness tinged in nervousness, he hesitantly brushed Scorpius' tousled blond fringe from his forehead in one swipe that didn't accomplish his mission.

It shouldn't have made her pulse skip.

_But it did._

The action was normal, Hermione rationalised. Malfoy was his father. It was just… _different_.

Outside a smiling photo on his desk, she had never seen that softer side of him; she doubted many had. A sleeping child served as the instrument that smoothed the edges of him. That was…

Hermione flexed her hands, not realising how tense and stiff she'd gotten until she tore her eyes away in order to take those first steps back towards Narcissa's room. Exhaling the breath she hadn't realised she was holding, she ran a hand over her hair.

Then she took a second breath.

A third and fourth.

Hermione knocked on the door and Keating opened it almost immediately. Forcing her to push back all thoughts of Malfoy, Scorpius, and the tickle in the back of her mind, she focused on the task at hand.

It wasn't long after her walkthrough and update that she found herself reviewing notes Keating had already taken, catching words like _hallucination_ and _restless legs_.

"How is she doing tonight?"

"Just went to sleep not an hour ago after Draco-inspired agitation." The woman shook her head, leaning in to gossip, which meant she was comfortable. She was right. She knew Keating wouldn't be the issue. "Apparently, he refused a second marriage date with a witch she liked. Sent her into quite a state because he wouldn't tell her what he didn't like about her."

"Interesting." Hermione redirected a displaced thought. "How did she tolerate the evening potion?"

"Despite not being a fan of the taste, she took it well." The taste couldn't be helped. "Do you want to see her readings for the day? She looks even, right on the baseline of where she _should_ be that you've provided."

Keating turned to retrieve the care plan Hermione had created, but Hermione reached out and rested her hand on the woman's arm.

"No, I have the master parchment in my office. I only came tonight to check on things and see how you were settling in. Nights aren't easy." Hermione cleared her throat. "I couldn't help but glance at your notes. Hallucinations? Did she have an episode?"

"Oh." Keating made a small gesture like it was hard for her to explain. "No, she didn't. Sachs and I agreed on this schedule because I'm better at handling her when she does hallucinate, which happens more at night, according to the research you included in your care manual… and also from experience." She had at least read that part, which was nice to know. Comforting, because nights had been difficult for Narcissa—and for her as well.

"That's true, yes, but why did you write it down?"

"I've been around Narcissa long enough to know when she's seeing something she shouldn't." That was valuable information Hermione had little to no knowledge of. "It doesn't always happen in the confines of her episodes, which are—as you know— _very_ intense." Hermione agreed with a tired nod. "Normally, her hallucinations don't agitate her, but when she sees something distressing, _that's_ when I've witnessed more dramatic episodes. Do you know if she wandered off yet?"

"She's with security all the time when she leaves the house. They haven't reported anything to me."

"Good." Keating took a relieved breath. "Narcissa has wandered off a few times over the last year and I don't know what the trigger for that is. It's nearly impossible to find her, but Draco always manages to."

Duly noted. "Ah, well as far as her wandering goes, the trigger could be anything." Even in the Muggle form of the disease, the severity and path varied from person to person and could _still_ change once she had established a baseline, that much Hermione remembered in her extensive readings. She'd drilled that piece of information into her skull. "How can you tell she's hallucinating?"

"She looks off to the side mainly. Like she's looking at someone sitting next to her. Or at least that's how I could tell before she realised I noticed such things. She hides it much better now."

Hermione folded her arms, glancing over Keating's shoulder at the shut door where Narcissa was tucked into bed. "Why would she hide it?"

"I think whoever she sees is a comfort for her."

Finding comfort in a hallucination was disturbing, but since it didn't bother Narcissa, she wouldn't even address it. "You noted restless legs as well? Her evening potions are designed to combat this."

"They do, but I observed her while she was asleep not long before you came and noticed that while her readings show that she's entering into a deep sleep, she's tossing and turning and her legs are restless. I'll monitor her through the night and make notes."

Her statement was correct, readings could only show so much. There was a human element of care that Hermione couldn't do by herself day in and day out. It simply didn't work.

"You should head home, Miss Granger." Keating gave her a matronly smile. "You don't work weekends, but you _do_ work exhaustive hours during the weeks: brewing, researching, monitoring her condition, and cooking meals. I know you're not used to having help, but it's our job to handle the in between. Go and enjoy the rest of your weekend. Our weekly meetings are on Mondays, yes?"

Hermione was slightly mystified. "Ah, yes. Okay, thank you. Have a good night."

"You, too."

Possible clashing with Sachs aside, she was happy to have the Palliative Care team—a shift in her original opinion on the matter. But time and experience had shown her that Narcissa's case was intricate and ever-changing. Caregiving was more than one person. It involved the sort of teamwork Hermione had never required with other assignments.

Perhaps a change from the normal status quo wouldn't be so horrible.

They had already provided a different perspective, more information, and fresh eyes.

All things needed to build those metaphorical bridges.

When Hermione shut the door behind her with a soft click, her eyes automatically went to where that _light_ caught her attention for the second time.

 _No_.

It was really none of her business.

She was finished there for the night. Done working. Well, sort of. She was headed home to prepare for tomorrow's brewing of Wolfsbane for Padma's patients, but all in all, her work at the _Malfoys_ was done. Hermione repeated this over and over as she took step after step away from the light that called to her curiosity…

_No._

Hermione made it all the way to the Floo, had her hand on the container and was fully determined to (for once in her damn _life_ ) not be so bloody nosy, and—

"You're not supposed to be here today," someone—okay, not someone: Malfoy—said from behind her in a low voice that sounded like distant thunder. She'd learned his voice like she'd learned most things—after studying. Not that it mattered.

She hadn't heard him coming so the fact that he was suddenly _there_ startled Hermione so badly she knocked the container off the hearth. It shattered. In one swift motion, she whirled around, words positioned for exit, and—

Then the fire was snuffed out.

Like magic.

Why?

Because in his arms was Scorpius, and he was _asleep_.

Hermione found herself wondering if he would move on so she could leave in peace, but time awkwardly continued to stretch on as she picked apart the sight in front of her.

Whether it was because of how tired he looked or because he just wasn't used to the act itself she wasn't sure, but Malfoy looked incredibly stiff while holding him. One hand was on his son's back, the other under his bottom. Scorpius' head was nestled in the crook of Malfoy's neck, turned away from him as he slept on. Hermione couldn't tell if the visible tension rolling off Malfoy had to do with the fact that Scorpius was heavy or because she was there.

Maybe both?

Silence quickly lost its appeal. "I'll just…" She trailed off as she turned to repair the broken Floo Powder container. After it was mended, Hermione placed it back where it belonged and slowly turned back to the man who was _still_ waiting. "Have—"

Scorpius turned his head, exhaling a word that changed the entire course of Hermione's night.

" _Mum."_

Hermione probably would have broken the container again had she been holding it so tight because she _jolted_ at the sound of his soft, mumbling voice. Malfoy peered down at his son as best as he could, more confused than anything.

She was nearly breathless, trying to regain control of her racing heart.

"Did he just—"

"No."

" _Mummy."_

Her inhale was _loud_ in the empty room, but she couldn't help it. The sharp stab of pain felt like a knife to the gut. It twisted further when she heard a pained, choked-off sob come from the boy.

No tears.

_He was dreaming._

Try as she might, Hermione couldn't keep her heart from _aching_ for him without restriction. Her focus was strictly on the little boy, vaguely recognising the sound of both her bag and wand hitting the floor, no longer caring about either as she approached them slowly, carefully. She was so afraid to spook him.

But Malfoy never so much as moved. Never stopped looking at Scorpius. Never lifted his head.

He was just… _there_.

A blank husk. A part of the background in the scene before her.

Frozen to the spot.

What little colour he had drained from his face as a visible heaviness settled over him like a solid weight. It seemed to drag him down further when Scorpius _kept_ pitifully calling for his mother, squirming in his father's arms, and breathing heavily while Malfoy just blinked over and over, unsure of what to do.

He just held Scorpius as best as he could, looking overwhelmed and rigid and as _lost_ as he was exhausted.

When Hermione gripped his arm, Malfoy finally _moved,_ if only in an attempt to recoil from her touch. It became apparent by the deep, ragged breath he took that had he not been so shocked by her presence, had he been able to move, he would have retreated and the entire incident would have been another thing they didn't speak about.

Not that Hermione would ever forget it.

But as it was, she was there.

Malfoy tried to say something, but Scorpius moaned again and she felt her heart crumble all over again. Hermione took an uneven breath of her own then did what came natural.

She helped them _both_.

The shushing noise she made did nothing except make Malfoy tense so bad he seemed to vibrate, but Hermione remained as calm as she could, tentatively resting her hand on the top of Scorpius' blond head; his hair was as soft as it looked. "You're okay."

He instantly fell silent.

After catching a glimpse of Malfoy's surprise, emboldened by success, Hermione got closer, ignoring his gaze in favour of continuing, running gentle fingers through Scorpius' hair and talking to him. Words her mother used to say when she was a child came to her slowly. " _As… as the day turns to night, keep your worries out of sight."_ Scorpius steadily continued to settle. " _Close your eyes and go to sleep for all the good times are yours to keep."_

There was more, Hermione was sure of it, but that was all she could recall.

Malfoy carefully adjusted him and she followed the action, keeping contact and connection as she stroked his hair and whispered nothing noises until he finally went still.

Scorpius was asleep.

The silence that followed was more than awkward, more than deafening, it was nearly unbearable, but Hermione waited it out as long as she could before taking a hesitant step back. "Y-you should take him to bed."

Without a single debate, Malfoy did just that, but his steps were not as silent. Hermione didn't watch him go—couldn't. Instead, she picked up her wand and bag, tossed them both on the chair, and sat down on the sofa, feeling emotionally spent.

But she didn't leave.

Time passed as she waited for Malfoy to return.

Five minutes turned into fifteen.

By twenty, Hermione was on her feet, ready to find him. She knew it didn't take that long to put a sleeping child to bed. But Malfoy returned then and she really took a look at him. Pale. Haggard. Malfoy was exhausted in a way that looked just as soul deep as physical, but his eyes still had that sharp quality to them, one that told her to tread _very_ lightly. All she wanted to do was the opposite.

Malfoy looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Well, that made two of them.

"We should talk."

A hundred different responses to his placid statement raced around in her mind, but the winner was only a single word: "Where?"

They ended up in his office with Hermione sitting in the same chair Scorpius had fallen asleep in hours before. Only now it faced Malfoy, who sat behind his desk, paying no mind to the fact that she was hurling _fire_ at him.

He remained focused on his task, sweeping silver eyes back and forth between writing on parchment and reading from probably the _oldest_ book she had ever seen—so old he had to be delicate about turning the pages, which he'd only done once in the last thirty minutes they'd been sitting there. As a person with a deep respect for books, Hermione appreciated the care he took, but as someone who had her questions crafted, listed, categorised, and ready to be asked…

Well, she wasn't in the mood for games.

It was late—nearly midnight—and Hermione was as drained, depleted, both mentally _and_ physically.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean her mind rested while she watched him work. Hermione had another look around, taking in things she'd missed on her first visit. A broom mounted to his wall. A framed Falmouth Falcons shirt. More books caught her attention, of course, but not on his wall-to-wall shelves. There were eight books on his desk that looked just as old and dusty as the written word itself. The animal hide covers were so faded she could hardly read the titles.

Just as well.

She had already tried reading the pages he appeared to be copying—no, _translating_ —over a dozen times, but Hermione wasn't skilled enough to read his handwriting right side up, much less upside down.

The letters were familiar, but they were arranged in a language she didn't speak.

A convoluted thought tumbled into the doors of her mind and she sent it back out, but it was slow to leave. Hermione found herself wanting to be able to translate him with the same ease he converted the words in front of him. She had no reason in particular beyond being able to communicate with him in the only language he seemed to understand.

_His own._

Malfoy worked on, but she could tell his energy was nearly sapped. His current appearance made the version of him from earlier that week—who'd taken two of the three potions with him when he left the room—seem healthy and full of vigour.

There was a tremble in Malfoy's hands that he kept flexing through, kept trying to steady. He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, eyes that were heavier than ever before—now that she was paying enough attention to notice. He'd already nodded off three times while writing. Hermione pretended not to notice the simple truth that he was running low on fumes. And the whiskey that floated next to him wasn't helping matters.

Why he insisted on pushing himself so hard, Hermione had no idea, but couldn't focus on that.

At least, not now.

"You like your silences just as tactical as Theo does, I see."

Malfoy's quill stopped abruptly. "I actually find the way he starts conversations annoying as hell." He sat the quill down before _finally_ looking up. Hermione nearly cringed at the dark circles under his eyes. He looked almost sick. "Frankly, my head is pounding and I was merely waiting for you to begin."

And just like that, her well-prepared list of questions vanished before her eyes, leaving Hermione at a loss for words. "I don't know where to start."

"It's obvious where you want to start." Malfoy grabbed his floating whiskey glass and finished it in one go, taking a breath after quickly grimacing. "No need to wait. Go on and tell me I'm a failure of a father."

That gave her pause. He wanted her to say that? Actually, no. _Expected it._ The bait had been laid out so perfectly, but every instinct in her told her to leave it. So she did. "I won't say that. I don't know your situation beyond what I see, but I _will_ say that Scorpius needs _help_. Therapy at the very minimum. My department has a pediatric Healer."

"I'll speak to my mother about it." He rubbed the stiffness from his jaw—or tried to, at least. There was a certain detachment in his tone that made her distastefully frown. Those were words he said a lot. Said to placate. Said to end conversations. "She handles his daily activities for now."

_For now._

Hermione managed to stifle all but _one_ of her comments.

A proud moment.

"Your mother?" She blinked at the overtired man incredulously. "Your same mother whose treatment of him is just as rigid as his schedule?" There was more Hermione wanted to say, but the hardening of his expression made it perfectly clear that she was about to lose her window of opportunity. She had to backtrack. "Forget that." Because she _absolutely_ needed to choose her battles carefully and Malfoy was not himself right now. "Let's start with what happened—"

"That hasn't happened before, as far as I know. Sometimes he wakes after he's gone to bed and sits in my office until he falls asleep. My mother can't stand it. But—" He pinched the bridge of his nose yet again. "I haven't—" Malfoy stopped himself short of divulging more than he wanted to say, but she already had a good guess.

Even if Scorpius _had_ been upset in his sleep recently, Malfoy would not know because he wasn't _there_.

And _really_ hadn't been in the last week or so with his overnight canvassing trips in Wales.

Hermione waited in brittle silence as he poured himself at least two fingers, but didn't drink it. He just stared at the liquid before placing it on the table. Malfoy removed his glasses and sat them on top of the stack of books, massaging his eyes so roughly it made her cringe. Resting his elbow on his desk, he ran a rough hand through his hair multiple times and rubbed the back of his neck—it was surely stiff and sore.

Meanwhile, the Healer in Hermione was listing off symptoms to a condition she knew he already had. Mental exhaustion on top of physical. _Strain._

She leaned back in her chair. "How's your stomach?"

"Stop diagnosing me." The glare she earned was worth it.

"Stop giving me a reason to lace your whiskey with a sedative and _go to bed_. You're beyond exhausted, Malfoy, and I meant what I said before. You're no use to anyone like this."

"There—"

"I have a lot of things I wish to discuss with you, but I can't say anything because you look like _death_."

Malfoy yawned, seemingly irritated by the outward signs of his fatigue, but even his own emotions fell flat. Limp.

"For what you did for him, I suppose I owe you a favour."

She frowned. "You know, a _thank you_ would have sufficed, but I won't turn down your help. Favour or otherwise."

"Fine. If you'll excuse me, I have a Portkey to—"

"Sorry what?" Judging by the way he looked, there was no possible way that he could even _function_ another day without sleep. He looked a breath from falling over. "When's the last time you _actually_ slept, Malfoy?" His jaw clenched and Hermione rolled her eyes at his stubborn stupidity.

But she took a patient breath. She could do this.

"You're not my patient, Malfoy, we've established that, but you're _clearly_ not fit to do anything except sleep. I—" And the words of her half-detailed argument died in her mouth when he stood, grabbed the floating whiskey glass, and took it with him across the room to the sofa in front of the fireplace.

Hermione got to her feet when he sat, feeling a wave of frustration course like _fire_ through her veins with nowhere to go.

"You do what you want, Malfoy. I'll just go."

The battle between them looked like it would be one of attrition.

And right now it was too close to call.

"Close the door on your way out."

Hermione would have. Really. She'd even opened the door to leave. But then she heard the sound of glass on wood as he sat his whiskey on the coffee table, heard the sofa's low creak under his weight as he shifted. A noise that sounded something like resignation escaped Malfoy only moments before he laid down…

Kicked off his shoes

Gave in.

There wasn't much Hermione could do to stop herself from drawing closer to him.

The fact that Malfoy was already asleep and breathing deeply by the time she stood over him was the truest testament to his exhaustion. On his side and knees bent, he used his arms for a pillow. He was fully dressed but had no blanket for warmth. And while the sofa was just long enough for him to stretch to his full height, it wasn't a bed. Also, well….

Hermione found the sight just as lonely as Scorpius looking out the window.

She gave a mournful exhale for his inevitable aches and pains. "You'll be hurting in the morning for sure." Maybe she would leave a potion for him on the island. Not that he would take it, but perhaps a night on the sofa would make him more apt to comply. " _Definitely_ should sleep in a bed." It was a half-joke. One she said more to herself than the sleeping man.

But Malfoy's mumbled words shocked her.

They followed her like a shadow, growing heavier to the point where they ached. They stayed with her long after she found a throw blanket to cover him with. They waited for her while she turned the lights off and shut the door. They _haunted her_ in the space between awareness and sleep. Echoing over and over and over again…

" _I can't."_

_He's just a boy, pretending to be a wolf, pretending to be king.  
_ **Maurice Sendak**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday! First, thanks to my beta dreamsofdramione for everything. And my alpha reader for reading this twice. Second, thank you for all the reviews. I'm slowly trying to respond, but also trying to write and edit and stay ahead of you all. But seriously, you all have been so lovely and supportive. I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all. 
> 
> As for this chapter, this starts the shift and for good reason. I had so much fun writing Albus with his little anxious self. Wanted to keep his voice childish and thanks to my beta for having a kid his age, which helped. Wanted to also show Hermione as a motherly figure as well as a BAMF. I also love writing Harry in this scene. I laughed so much. It's also funny because there were questions about Draco's marriage and I'm like "it's coming" and some questions hopefully have been answered. Some. There's still more on that front. And lastly, the last part of it crumpled my heart. My lost boys. And I love writing Draco's first overt moment of vulnerability. Packed chapter indeed. See you all next Friday. Next chapter is probably just as long as this one. Oops.


	10. Sanctuary

**Ten  
** _Sanctuary_

_**May 22, 2011** _

  
Patience and understanding were key ingredients in cooking as well as life. It was about understanding the basic, raw ingredients and how to balance tastes, textures, and flavors to create meals. Hermione kept turning the thought over in her mind as she gathered everything the recipe book called for to make Bolognese.

It was a favourite of Narcissa's, and considering Hermione needed a healthy dose of those key ingredients to deal with the older witch, it seemed like an appropriate use of her Sunday afternoon.

Preparation for another week.

Hermione organised all her ingredients on the countertop, pre-measured per the recipe in individual bowls. Minced beef, pancetta, milk, wine, onions, carrots, celery, tomato sauce, paste, and spices were all ready to be added.

As she worked, heating the olive oil in a pot before adding the finely chopped vegetables, she also realised that cooking involved an endless amount of beginnings.

Really, each meal she prepared was another fresh start.

Hermione raised the heat, added minced beef, and stirred, breaking up the meat as it browned. Like people, no two recipes were the same, and that sentiment extended to the Malfoys as well. While composed of the same base ingredients, each flavour profile couldn't be more different.

Next came the tomato sauce, paste, and more spices. Everything was mixing well together when she lowered the heat and added the bay leaf. Each step was executed exactly as printed in the recipe book next to her.

As she waited for the pot to boil, Hermione allowed her thoughts to turn to each of the Malfoys.

Narcissa's recipe gave her a dish that was delicate but potent; the flavours came out one by one over time.

Though she had some understanding of Scorpius' texture, she was still trying to guess all the ingredients that made him up. There was a sweetness to him that was natural. He clashed with Narcissa's potency and she didn't know how he blended with his father.

Malfoy was something all his own. Strong like Narcissa, he wasn't at all delicate, just convoluted. A flavour symphony that teetered between sweet and sour or bland and spicy.

How could anyone make those contrasts blend together into something congruent?

The question floated around in her head as she lowered the temperature. Bolognese required a slow and patient simmer for three hours in order to achieve the ideal, authentic texture. Hermione gave it the time it needed by completing her other tasks. First, she checked the parchment for notes from Sachs: there were only two.

 _Narcissa didn't like the pre-made breakfast. She prefers it fresh._ It didn't seem like the insult it was intended to be.

 _She will be attending dinner with the Greengrass family and Scorpius._ Interesting. She wondered if Malfoy spoke to her about their conversation.

Or if he was even awake.

The query lingered before floating off as Hermione scheduled her next meeting with Charles to check in regarding the adjusted potions. But each time she stirred the Bolognese sauce, the thought about blending flavours and Malfoys returned.

Her reason for considering them all was Narcissa. They were her family, her motivation, and though she was partly responsible for the friction, it would wear on her over time. No matter how unaffected she seemed. And that wouldn't do. The only way to relieve it would be to strip the three apart and focus on each dish independently of the others. Which meant a little closer look at the _one_ dish that hadn't ventured too far from her mind since—

Pansy popped into her living room dressed in a black and white polka dot dress with a peach rose tucked behind her ear and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She lowered her sunglasses before frowning at the sight of Hermione cooking.

"I was planning on Granger-napping you to take you out to dinner, but you look like an orphan that's been rolling around in dirt all day."

Hermione laughed. "I've had a productive day." The sauce was nearly done and it was time to start the pasta. She tapped the pot on the stove with her wand, watching as it filled with water. With a flick of her wrist, she turned on the hob. A few drops of oil later and she gave her full attention to the witch in her kitchen. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Every one of your days is productive. As for your dinner invitation…" Dramatic as usual, Pansy inclined her chin, touching it delicately with two fingers, appearing wistful. "Seeing as I'm such a good friend, I _must_ keep you company. I suppose I'll—"

"I've chilled a bottle of Chianti to go with it."

Pansy put her purse down on the edge of the island. "Say no more, Granger. You don't need to work so hard to convince me to stay." Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled at her ridiculousness, noting that the water was now boiling, perfect for the linguini. "You're making that al dente, right?"

"Yes." For someone who couldn't cook, Pansy _certainly_ had specific tastes. She removed her sunglasses, placing them on the island next to her purse, and gracefully took her seat on a barstool across from Hermione, who was preparing their salads. "How has your day been?"

"Busy. I've got two parties to plan. A small one for Draco's birthday that I'm forcing on him because he'll only turn thirty-one once. And a much larger one for Summer Solstice at Theo's next month."

Pansy threw parties like toddlers threw tantrums. One for every holiday and birthday. Really, she barely needed an excuse. Organising every detail of an event—right down to the mandatory magically binding non-disclosure agreement, with an added clause for privacy protection—gave Pansy something to do when she was bored and in need of stimuli. It also gave her the connection with people she'd never admit to needing. Whenever Pansy seemed a little morose, or when dark thoughts she'd never confess to having started creeping to the forefront of her mind, Hermione knew she would plan a party.

Theo always gave her a place because he knew she needed it.

He was good like that.

"What's the theme of the solstice party?"

"Floral and bohemian. It'll be outside in the clearing behind his family's country estate so I'm thinking of a place for people to dance, music, light hors d'oeuvres, tables set up under the trees with fairy lights and candles floating above them. Nothing fancy or elaborate." She ended with a shrug. "Of course, there will be flowers incorporated into all the decorations so perhaps that may take time. But really. It'll be simple."

It didn't sound simple.

Hermione stirred the pasta. "Uh-huh, how many people?"

"A fair amount… perhaps two hundred?"

"I don't even know a _hundred_ people I want to be at a party with."

"Draco said the same thing when I approached him about putting a Stonehenge replica behind the estate. There's enough room and the clearing is _perfect_ to view it as if you were there. Only with less Muggles." Pansy smiled at the sceptical look on her face. "It's a social gathering, Hermione. Don't be dull." Then her smile widened.

She glared at Pansy. "What do you want?"

"Two favours."

One of her eyebrows lifted in curiosity. "It depends."

"Nothing elaborate." Pansy rolled her eyes. "I just want a vial of your inhibition potions for the drinks, as I won't be serving wine. The potion was such a hit at my Winter Solstice party. The guests said they didn't feel any different."

The request was easy, even if the potion was not. Potions that lowered a person's reserves were complicated at best, couldn't be rushed, and took an incredibly long time to make—likely why Pansy had put in the request a month early. Too much and they lost their free will, acting purely on instinct. Too little and they wouldn't work at all. Just right and they would be freer with their words and slightly bolder with their actions. "I'll do it, how long do you want it to last?"

 _That_ was an entirely different set of variables she would have to account for.

Not hard, just time consuming.

"I'm thinking until the Last Light—the last moment of daylight. The official end of the solstice. Make it strong enough for me to consider speaking to Cho… _voluntarily_."

"Like I did for Winter Solstice but slightly stronger? You did say hello to Cho at Winter Solstice, and you were cheerful about it."

The cringe she received was comical. "Don't remind me."

Hermione checked the timer for the pasta. It had a few minutes left. "What's the second favour?"

"Oh, nothing particularly strenuous." Pansy's pause sounded more strategic than necessary. "You _could_ invite the Weasley brother with table manners."

"Percy?"

"Is that his name?" Pansy blinked with wide-eyed innocence. "I hardly remember."

Hermione glared at her friend, who had found something particularly interesting about the jade green cabinets, but she decided to let Pansy stew in her own denial. She could wait until they'd both had a couple of glasses of Chianti. Her lips would be a little looser.

Pansy checked her fingernails. "I _suppose_ his company won't be intolerable."

"Am I asking him to the party itself or as your date? The former I'll do, the latter I won't."

"The former. I'll give you the invitation tomorrow."

The last couple of minutes ticked away. Hermione summoned everything she needed, turned off the bog, and set it all up in the sink to strain. Once the pasta was ready, Hermione began the process of plating. Salad first, then the linguini, then Bolognese sauce. Hermione carried the plates and cutlery out to the conservatory while Pansy grabbed what was important to her: wine and glasses. Soon they were eating and drinking with the sunset as a backdrop.

Pansy finished her first glass before she even started eating. "How's Narcissa been since the potions debacle?"

"Who told you about it?"

"Theo told me that Draco figured it out."

That path of communication seemed accurate. "That's correct. She's not had any issues since starting on the corrected potion." Hermione took a sip of her wine and looked out at the darkening sky. "Speaking of, we should have a conversation about Narcissa since you're here."

Hermione expected general caginess from Pansy, but instead, she got something else.

"I've been waiting for this for nearly a month. I'm surprised you took this long."

"I was a bit busy trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her and why she started declining right after I changed her potions. Forgive me for not being quicker."

"You're forgiven." Pansy smiled. "What do you want to know?"

Hermione gave her a look. "What I want to know and what you're willing to divulge are two different things."

"That would be correct, but I'm willing to make an exception."

"How gracious."

"You _are_ doing me a couple of favours, after all. Not to mention the fact that I yelled at you about not taking her case. Would be pointless of me not to help." Which was all true. "Besides, the last month or so of her ranting about you—well, outside of her horrid mood swings and the fact that she calls me Bella _all the time_ , which is just as horrifying as it sounds—has been interesting at best."

Hermione just blinked at that new bit of information. Best if she catalogued it for later.

"And here I was thinking we were becoming great friends." She rolled her eyes sarcastically, which made Pansy laugh. Hermione revisited one of their earlier conversations. "She _did_ say that I remind her of herself, though I'm certain that was a backhanded comment at best."

"Or maybe it was a compliment."

"Doubtful," Hermione replied with a dry chuckle. "From what she's told you, what do you—"

"Look, I'll be honest with you. I love Narcissa, she's been something like a second mother to me, but she likes things done a particular way, and she's not used to relinquishing control. Especially not as much as you're asking her to give up."

"Sooner or later, she'll have to. Either by choice or the disease will take it from her. I'm trying to make her realise that she needs to make adjustments in her life _now_ to prepare for this change. She cannot be in control of everything—"

"And she should, but look at it from her perspective. You're asking her to change a lot in a very short amount of time. You're asking her to give up a large piece of who she is."

"I didn't say she had to completely give up on society, in fact. I'm going to observe her book reading tomorrow just to see how she is when she doesn't know I'm around. My reason for asking her to step back is that at some point, her disease won't let her operate at the capacity she does now. She'll have to stop running Scorpius' education, society events, everything. I'm trying to help ease her into that transition, but—"

"Don't you think she knows this?" Pansy sat her fork on the plate and leaned back. "She knows that she'll decline to the point where she won't know herself or anyone else. I think she's taking comfort in the routine before she has to come to grips with reality."

"I understand that, but—"

"There's the second issue. _You._ But you can't change yourself, so nothing to do there."

Hermione tilted her head. "Me?"

Pansy chuckled into her glass. "A little insight on Narcissa. People treat her one of three ways." She held up one manicured finger. "One: with respectful reverence she has earned through her name, wealth, fame, or her philanthropy since the war." Then a second. " _Two_ : with scorn and contempt. Even though Lucius died, the manor has been burning for thirteen years, _and_ they're prime targets for Death Eaters, some people don't feel that the Malfoys have suffered enough." Pansy added a third finger. "Or _three_ : with awkward confusion. Like they have no idea how to feel about her."

Hermione thought that sounded accurate.

"You… don't fit into _any_ of those categories, Granger. She's also not used to anyone speaking to her the way you have." Pansy shook her head before laughing to herself. "Did you really tell her—" The witch stopped herself. "Knowing you, everything she has accused you of saying is likely true. Also, Draco confirmed it."

Ah, so he had heard more than she thought.

Hermione merely shrugged. "She gave unsolicited advice like she didn't expect a challenge. Meanwhile, I have _never_ backed down from one."

"In that part of your life, yes." Pansy gave her a meaningful glare that Hermione returned just as stubbornly. "Speaking of challenges…" Pansy shook her head before chewing on her bottom lip. "Do you think you'll be able to regulate her condition?"

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "It's too soon to tell after the mishap. It seems the potions have helped so far. At the very least, she's sleeping better. But she's not exactly forthcoming about any symptoms she _does_ experience. That needs to change."

"Give her time. She'll come around."

"Whether she comes around or not, that's not my only concern. This is a job she hired me to do. She wants time and I can't give it to her without transparency on her part. I'm giving it on mine." Hermione ate more from her plate while Pansy drank first then joined in. Several minutes of companionable silence passed before Hermione settled on another question. "How long have you known about her condition?"

Pansy sighed the sigh of someone faced with having a conversation she would much rather avoid. "She would occasionally forget things, but I don't think anyone thought it out of the ordinary until she took Scorpius to the tailor to be fitted for robes for Astoria's funeral and returned home without him."

Hermione stopped eating. "What?"

"I was there with Daphne and Draco. They were making arrangements together when she came in. When Draco asked where Scorpius was, she looked at him and had no idea what he was talking about. I'll never forget, she said, ' _You're too young to have a son.'_ And then all hell broke loose."

All she could do was blink wildly. "Where was Scorpius?"

Likely terrified and confused. Lost. She couldn't _imagine_.

"He was still at the tailor where she'd left him, and the owner was just completing the fitting. He said she went to look at a different colour robes while he was doing measurements, and when he turned around, she was gone. He pretended like nothing was amiss so as not to distress Scorpius." She sighed, rubbing her temple. "He wasn't talking by that point, but I doubt he noticed anything was wrong."

Hermione deeply doubted that. "Any other incidents?"

"Over the last three years? Hmm. I can think of several, thanks to hindsight. More when I was staying with them after my divorce. During tea, she would forget what she was talking about, who I was, or where we were. It still happens. She calls me Andromeda sometimes but mostly Bella. I never say anything to correct her, just go along with it." Smart. Exactly what she would advise. "Let's see. Before her diagnosis, her hands would shake uncontrollably. She would sweat and get agitated. Once she Apparated across the room accidentally. I'm honestly surprised she didn't Splinch herself. She's wandered off loads of times over the last two years. Draco probably has a better account of it. He's been dealing with it longer. Had to force her to see a Healer."

"From what I gather, things aren't great between them."

"No, they aren't. They're both stubborn as fuck and refuse to bend. They might not speak much outside of very select topics, but he won't let her go anywhere without security."

That sparked her interest. "How long has she had security?"

 _Years_ , she assumed, given everything she knew and didn't know about the Death Eater threats the Malfoys had faced. At least since the letters started. Or maybe since they moved back to London. Or—

"There were incidents in the past, of course, but Draco hired them the day after she left Scorpius. That was his last straw."

Which meant they were hired for more than just protection from threats—they were hired to protect her from herself.

After recalling her accusations about him being more concerned with the threat of Death Eaters than what was _actually_ killing his mother, Hermione inwardly winced. She hadn't been _entirely_ right in that assumption. Not that Malfoy had been open with his reasons, but… Well, like she'd said to Harry, it wasn't like him to be forthright.

At that point, Hermione began to wonder what she _had_ gotten right about him.

Didn't seem like much.

Questions.

Hermione had plenty of them, and they all were threatening to burst forth all at once. However, she knew better. Was more patient. Knew she couldn't ask them all at once.

In fact, she waited to ask any more until after they were finished with their meal and sitting on the sofa, enjoying wine and the ambiance of the darkening sky. The fairy lights had only just come on, adding enough light for Hermione to _really_ see the rose in Pansy's hair.

It wasn't decorative, but _alive._

Now _that_ was a question she _could_ ask. "You're wearing a real rose in your hair?"

"Of course, you _would_ notice." Pansy took a delicate sip of Chianti. "Weasley's been sending them. Just one rose a week. Seems like every time I come close to forgetting him, another rose shows up."

Smart.

"Weasley?" Hermione gave her a knowing look. "The one you don't know?"

"Oh, fuck you, Granger." Pansy glared at her, but there was no heat behind it. They were both relaxed from the Chianti and the comfortable mood between them, which had taken _years_ to perfect. "I happen to hate it very much, thank you. I'm not interested in being courted."

She didn't believe Pansy for a second, not when she had his flower in her hair, but she didn't press for more details. Her friend would talk on her own terms, be honest in her own way, and Hermione would be ready to listen whenever that happened.

That was how they worked.

Hermione drank a bit of Chianti, enjoying the flavour. "I wasn't under the impression that there were rules to courting for purebloods. I thought it was all contracts, arrangements, and societal machinations."

"Of course, you're not wrong. But you're not entirely right either. It depends on the family's status. I was the only girl, so my marriage contract basically auctioned me off to the highest bidder." Pansy shrugged like it was normal, even though she'd run from that life.

"I won't say I understand it—"

"You're quite expressive with your disapproval, Granger. You're not as subtle as you believe. In fact, Narcissa said that you looked like you'd smelled something rotten when she talked about contracting Draco's second marriage."

Well, there was no denying how she felt about it. "The entire matter is archaic."

Pansy crossed her legs properly, reclining on the sofa. "It's the pureblood way."

"But you don't subscribe to it anymore."

"Not entirely, but I can't help the way I was raised. It's ingrained into me, taught to me by tutors and governesses and my _mother_." Pansy finished her wine, placing her glass on the table in front of her. "No matter how removed I am from it, that life is a part of who I am. I still catch myself walking how I was told to, speaking when I should, and reaching for a dress that I would usually wear. Parvati wanted to get a tattoo and I immediately rejected the idea because tattoos are somewhat of a taboo in society—"

Hermione almost choked. "Sorry what? Tattoos are a _what_?"

"No respectable pureblood has one." The other witch stated, as if obvious. "They have a negative connotation, especially given Voldemort. It's also unseemly to mark up your body."

Of course, now all she could think about was the colour on Malfoy's left arm. "What else would be considered unseemly? Just… to understand Narcissa better."

"Facial hair, but that's becoming more acceptable with the time. It's still frowned upon in certain circles with more traditional families. Narcissa complains about Draco's facial hair until he gets irritated and shaves it off… and then he lets it grow again. He's moody like that." She pursed her lips. "What else? Hmmm… Short hair on both wizards and witches. Being divorced or unmarried past a certain age. Honestly, there are so many more."

"What about children?"

Hermione's attempt at casual fell flat as Pansy's blue eyes settled on her. "Ah, so you've met Scorpius." Not a question, but a statement. Pansy leaned forward and refilled her glass with the last of the wine like she was going to need it. "Go on, I know you have a _million_ questions. I'm not certain how much help I'll be. Theo has a better grasp of the situation. I met him when he was two and wasn't around much, but I'll answer what I can."

Interesting.

Hermione made a gesture. "I'll let you speak freely."

"The fact that he doesn't talk is a source of stress for Narcissa. She's tried everything to get him to talk—coercion, mainly, but she's tried to make compromises, too. Everything except outwardly expressing her frustration." Which was a good thing, Hermione supposed. "Nothing works. He's _incredibly_ strong-willed for a five-year-old."

"I wouldn't talk either if she treated me like she treats him."

Pansy sighed. "Between Daphne, Theo, and now you—"

"Scorpius is well taken care of, no doubt about it, but his emotional care leaves a lot to be desired. How can you ignore how coldly she treats him? How can you revere her when she—"

"I've had this argument with her _so_ many times in the last six months that I'm sick of the words, but she's insistent on doing things her way. She thinks she's making him strong." Pansy swirled the wine in her glass. "I know you don't understand my relationship with her. Daphne and I fight all the time about it, but I can say that you _can_ care about someone and not like their choices."

There was so much _more_ that she wanted to say, but wouldn't allow herself. Scorpius wasn't a patient, after all. And yet… "She's got to know that his silence is an _obvious_ sign that he's grieving and needs _help_. Last night I told Malfoy that he needs help and he—"

"What? Said that he'd talk to his mother about it."

"Yes."

"Do you _honestly_ think that Narcissa would put him in counselling? That's like admitting that he has a problem. That they're not perfect. Draco can try, but he won't succeed."

She had a point. Even while working at St. Mungo's, there weren't many that sought help in her department. Many still thought of mental health as a taboo topic. "Okay, but _she's_ not his father. Malfoy—"

"Traditionally, he has little to do with Scorpius' care right now. He's too young."

Hermione stared at her as if she were speaking a different language. "What _exactly_ does that even mean?"

"It's the pureblood way."

She took a breath, patience vanishing rapidly. "Pansy, if you say that _one more time_."

The witch gave her an irritated look that matched her own. "You asked, Granger, and now I'm telling you. You're going to call it antiquated, but this is how it works in pureblood families. Witches take care of the children up until a certain age. They handle their lessons, etiquette, preparing them for Society, and they fulfill their emotional needs. _Everything_. Fathers are rarely involved with a child's care."

" _That's_ —"

"How it is." Pansy examined her nails like she was explaining something as common as time. Hermione felt a rant building, welling inside of her like a shift in the tide. But she stopped herself and listened to what her friend had to say. "If he were a girl, Narcissa would continue preparing him for society, but since he's a boy, when Scorpius turns eight, Draco will step in, take over, and teach him like his father taught _him."_

Hermione waited several long moments. "You're absolutely right. That is _completely_ —"

" _Traditional._ I know it's a swear word to you, but to some people, it's a way of life." Pansy took another long pull of her wine. "I learned from my mother, who learned from hers, and so on. I know that with Scorpius, the lessons Draco will teach will be very different from _his_ father's teachings as he had a _rapid_ change of heart during and after the war."

"Nevermind that." Hermione dismissed the thought of Draco teaching his son. That didn't matter because Scorpius was three years off. And a lot would change for them in those three years. First being… "Narcissa has _dementia_. She's only going to decline from here. Now, at what rate, I'm still not certain, but who will take over his care when she's unable to? His nanny or his tutors? People who don't _know_ him—"

" _Or_ Draco's new wife."

At Hermione's sharp recoil, her friend sighed. "I already know what you're thinking and you're wrong."

"I'm not thinking anything at all." She bit back what she wanted to say and finished finishing her wine.

" _Liar_." When Hermione said nothing in her own defence, her friend sighed. "It's not uncommon for him to marry again. In fact, it's _expected_. I won't deny the fact that I believe Narcissa's disease is making her focus hard on that one-year deadline. I know she's making him take Marriage Meetings and attend Gatherings. Well…" She looked momentarily uncomfortable. "That's _part_ of the reason."

"It's _disgusting_." Hermione realised she was gripping the stem of her empty glass too tightly and set it on the table. "He should be focused on his son, not finding a new wife."

"His focus remains elsewhere, much to Narcissa's frustration." With a tired exhale, Pansy tilted her head up, observing the darkening skies. After such a wonderful day, it looked ready to rain, with clouds rolling in from the south. "Draco is… _complicated_ , and I'll need more wine to discuss him. I understand him both less _and more_ than I did when we were teenagers. However, it goes without saying that he's always been… _Draco."_

That also sounded like a vast understatement, but Hermione didn't dare speak that out loud.

"He's always been faced with difficult decisions, always had so much on his shoulders. He struggles with the weight of it all, but he tries to do the right thing for his family, even if the choice he makes isn't always the right one. I know for a fact he has zero interest in remarrying. He didn't want to marry in the first place—neither did Astoria… at least not to _him_ , but that's neither here nor there."

Hermione blinked a couple of times, trying to catch the parts that Pansy had blazed through, knowing for certain that she'd missed something along the way, but unable to pinpoint what. Or remember every word of what had been spoken. Still, she had one question about what she _had_ caught from Pansy's tumble of words: "If he's not interested, then why go along with it? Why let his mother orchestrate his remarriage at all?"

The question was left in the universe for so long that she had no idea if the other witch would acknowledge it or let it scatter to corners of the sky.

Fade into nothing.

Pansy broke the silence just as it was shifting into uncomfortable. "I had to be burned off my family tree to _live_ and _choose_ for myself, but Draco has never had the opportunity to do the same."  
  


* * *

_**May 23, 2011** _

  
Hermione had a talent.

Well, she had many, but one in particular was noteworthy considering her fame as The Brains.

She knew how to blend into crowds and become invisible, either out of absolute necessity or selfish desire. And though ideal, she didn't need Polyjuice Potion to do it.

The secret was to become a different person. Someone _not_ Hermione Granger, someone washed out and forgettable. A face and nothing more. And that wasn't just accomplished by dressing differently, changing her makeup, or taming her recognisable hair. It was about changing her body language. About not sitting alone. Mingling was absolutely necessary, but not starting random conversations with strangers, only joining them.

And the most important tip?

Being confident in the fact that anyone notable who attended upscale charity events didn't pay any mind to those who weren't worthy of their time or attention. Those who weren't on their level. Those who weren't instantly recognisable.

Narcissa never noticed her.

It had been a busy week for her patient, as the witch was hosting her third charity event—and it was only _Wednesday_. Narcissa had been so preoccupied over the last few days that she'd barely had time to argue or criticise Hermione and her care, much less complain about her meals. In fact, she had eaten every breakfast and lunch Hermione had prepared without fuss.

It seemed like the perfect time to see just how stressful Narcissa's life was.

Which was why she was in an elegant decorated ballroom that had a surprisingly intimate feel. Tonight's social gathering was for the Orphans of the Wizarding Wars—one of the _many_ charities the older witch supported. The event had opened with a moving reading from her biography, which was still as popular ever. But other than that, it was nothing more than Narcissa floating around the room, engaging with donors—wealthy families and fans rich enough to afford the thousand-Galleon seat alike—while Malfoy dutifully stood next to her, clean-shaven and in proper wizarding attire. All black.

He looked almost _bored_.

Well, no matter. Narcissa's lack of awareness worked for what Hermione needed to do: _observe_.

Hermione watched her for any blank moments, any signs of confusion or distress, even the subtle ones like tremors or sweats. Or physical ones like any slow movements or rigidity. Hermione also watched out for any changes in alertness or attention. Overall, her observation had been a bust. However, there _had_ been one moment when her face had momentarily tensed, but it ended up being nothing as she cut her eyes over to her son after he'd said _something_ to an older looking gentleman after he'd presented a stunningly beautiful witch.

Whatever Malfoy had said hadn't amused his mother one bit.

Outside of that moment, there was nothing noteworthy.

It had been a good night, and Hermione was glad for it. _For her._ She deserved it.

That thought caused her surveillance to shift from monitoring her as a Healer… to observing her as a person.

Hermione knew about her book—everyone did—but she hadn't been cognizant of the extent of its reach. Over ten years had passed since its release and she was _still_ reading passages from it, _still_ auctioning signed copies for charity. It was impressive. As Hermione mingled, weaving in and out of conversations, she did so with a growing awareness of just how many of the event's attendants _still_ clamoured to get in Narcissa's good graces. Still were intrigued by the Malfoys as a whole. Wanted to be associated with them. Seen with them. Know them.

Or in several cases, become _a part_ of them.

And while her son had a certain appeal, it mainly had to do with _her_.

That night, Narcissa was beautiful as always in stunning emerald robes, her blonde hair twisted into a graceful coiffure. Life, time, and a progressing illness could not—and _had not_ —withered her. There was so much _life_ in her, so much shrewd intelligence and poise that Hermione found herself much like the other guests: stuck just _watching_ Narcissa Malfoy in her element.

The public gravitated towards Narcissa like moons around a planet, believing they were close when in actuality, they were stuck in her orbit. Millions of kilometres away. Her intent all along had been to _attract_ , not to allow them into her atmosphere.

Because _then_ they might be able to see past her surface and mine their way into the core of who she was. See the cracks and flaws she hadn't exposed in her book. The dull parts that hadn't been buffed to perfection. And in doing that, perhaps they wouldn't revere her so much…

Or perhaps they would love her more _because_ of those imperfections.

After all, those were the aspects of Narcissa that reminded Hermione of her humanity, reminded her that Narcissa was more than her conventional beliefs. More than their differences, friction, and clash of wills. More than just a patient. And it made Hermione wonder if there was a part of her that _could_ get to know Narcissa on that level, a part that _could_ understand the older witch simply because those cracks and flaws reflected _something_.

Something that reminded Hermione of her own imperfections.

The appearance of an unfamiliar witch in her line of sight pulled Hermione from her thoughts.

She was taller, thanks to her heels, with blue eyes that contrasted her black hair, which was pulled back into a low bun that highlighted her high cheekbones and slender neck. Her robes were as black as her hair, modest but snug enough to off her figure.

"Oh, hello." Hermione's eyes flickered down, noticing Narcissa's signed book in her hand.

It wasn't the first time someone had approached her that evening, but it was typically single wizards—oh, and the lone married one she had sent immediately on his way after noting the pale line on his ring finger.

"Do we know each other?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh no, I'm Olivia. I just spotted you standing here looking at the Malfoys and thought I'd say hello." Naturally, Hermione almost argued, but actually she _had_ been staring. She put on a pleasant smile, but apparently the other woman wasn't finished. "Have you been formally introduced?"

Hermione blinked. "To who?"

"Why the Malfoys, _of course._ " Olivia scoffed as if she couldn't believe how silly Hermione was being. "You can't be invited to a Marriage Meeting without an introduction."

"Oh, no." Hermione shook her head. "I'm _certainly_ not looking to contract myself into a marriage."

When the other woman realised that Hermione wasn't in competition she softened. Or rather, she began to brag. "My father introduced me to his mother with the hopes of securing a Marriage Meeting with Draco. We may be half-bloods, but my family owns Madam Malkin's as well as several clothing lines. My dowry is _quite_ substantial."

So, she was very rich. Hermione pretended to care. " _Wow_ …"

Not noticing the sarcasm in her tone, the strange woman continued on, unbothered. "I think it will be enough to secure a Meeting and I'll let my _charm_ do the rest. Rumour has it, he's not looking to remarry, but I think I'm persuasive enough." She lifted her chin and put on a sly, knowing smile. "I know what men like him want."

"Oh, definitely."

" _Exactly_." Olivia smiled like she'd found a kindred spirit. "A little of that and I'll be the next Mrs Malfoy in no time. My parents will be elated."

 _Good luck with that_ , Hermione almost said, but only just barely managed to stifle herself. "Have you met him yet?"

The witch stole another glance at the unsmiling Malfoy heir. "Only from afar." Her eyes lingered for a second. "But I'm hoping to by the end of the evening. How do I look?"

"Lovely." That wasn't a lie. Hermione really tried _not_ to ask her next question, but what harm could it do? It was conversational at best. "What do you know about him?" She nodded in Malfoy's direction.

To observe.

While Narcissa charmed a nicely dressed pair, a witch who looked at least a decade younger than Malfoy offered her hand to him while smiling in a simpering sort of way. Sharp grey eyes cut from hers, down to her extended hand, then back up before the corners of his mouth quirked into a frown and he turned his attention elsewhere.

The smile on the girl's face crashed and burned.

For a moment, Hermione felt bad for her, a little indignant because of his behaviour, but then she remembered the intent behind her action and reasons for getting close… and her sympathy went out the window.

Meanwhile, Olivia barely seemed to notice. "I know that he's rich, eligible, and comes from an influential family; the rest doesn't matter. At least he's attractive for someone so cold. Thank _Merlin_ for that." She started to chuckle, thinking Hermione would join in. _She didn't._ Nowhere in that did she mention Scorpius, which was extremely off putting. And after the awkward moment, Olivia sobered and cleared her throat while gripping the book in her hand.

"Well, best of luck to you, Olivia. I _really_ must be going."

Startled by her abrupt farewell, the woman just nodded. "Oh, well it's nice to meet you…" Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

Quick on the uptake, she thought of a name that was inconspicuous. Forgettable. Her middle name. "Jean."

"Oh! Well, Jean, it's been wonderful to meet you."

"Likewise, _Future_ Mrs Malfoy."

The witch giggled, flushing prettily. Hermione made her way towards the exit, passing people by who barely gave her a glance. She was just another face in the crowd, after all. She didn't matter because she wasn't memorable. Even Olivia had already moved on and was now chatting with the latest of Malfoy's rejects, patting the sullen witch on the back, not believing at all that she may end up just like her by night's end.

But that wasn't Hermione's problem and she silently wished the witch luck.

Now that her task was complete, there was only one task left: leaving.

Hermione was only a few steps from the door when she felt something strange.

She looked over her shoulder to figure out what it was and—well, the moment called forth another reminder: she wasn't always the most observant person in the room. She wasn't always the smartest or the quickest either. There was almost always someone better. Someone that didn't quite fall into line with expectations. Someone who _already_ hadn't.

Someone whose grey eyes had locked on her from across the room, trapping her in his gaze.

Hermione froze, heart stuttering in her chest until—

 _Wait_ , she had nothing to hide and every reason to be there. She held his even gaze, noting the way his eyebrow rose slowly in question. But instead of making his mother aware of Hermione's presence, his mouth lifted into a wry smirk.

Then Malfoy looked away, moved on, resuming his conversation with a wizard who seemed to be a little baffled by his moment of distraction. The man had even looked in her direction, but didn't see her.

At least not the way Malfoy did.

* * *

_**May 25, 2011** _

  
Narcissa Malfoy had never exercised for fitness purposes a day in her life… and it _showed_.

When hosting and entertaining—or even existing—she possessed the grace and elegance of a bygone era. There was a presence about her that caused people to look whenever she entered any room; an energy that made everyone take notice. Infectious. Just because she was immune to Narcissa's charms, just because they had vastly different attitudes and beliefs that clashed like two armies vowing to take no prisoners, it didn't mean she was blind to it.

Didn't mean she didn't notice.

Or respect it. _Privately_.

Consistently, Hermione met the challenge each day as Narcissa's Healer, never backing down from the continuous test of having a patient that was almost as strong-willed as herself.

However, now that her potions had been corrected and she was levelling out, it was time to tackle other aspects of her care.

Namely, physical activity.

Hermione watched as every ounce of that poise and dignity _evaporated_ within the first few steps of their scheduled walk outdoors. It was a source of humour for her, a moment that showed Narcissa's humanity in such a bizarre way that she often had to stifle her mirth behind her hand. It had taken five whole minutes into their first walk for Hermione to realise just why Narcissa hated exercising so vehemently.

Narcissa _hated_ sweating. Hated the physical aches that followed a good, long walk. Hated _everything_ that had anything to do with the act.

That knowledge didn't stop Hermione from changing into trainers and approaching Narcissa as she reviewed her schedule while sipping tea. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"

"I assure you I am very busy." Narcissa was tense, her voice as crisp as the early morning air. The vertical lines between her eyebrows were so firmly grooved that Hermione had to assume that her expression—and outright refusal—would have been her instinctive reaction to any suggestion in that moment.

Not just walking.

Her mood now had Hermione's attention.

Not to combat it, but to figure out the source and determine if it was worthy of the stab of concern she felt as her Healer.

Narcissa was temperamental at best, but this was something unusual and that made it noteworthy. In truth, Narcissa had been in quite a horrific mood all morning. After Scorpius was hurried along to his lessons by his nanny, Zippy had reported to her that morning that Narcissa had returned extremely late after last night's charity event (her second of the week) and ignored all his attempts at rousing.

When she entered the kitchen about an hour later than usual, Narcissa looked as if she hadn't slept a wink. She was flushed and quiet, agitated to the point where she would have spilled her tea had Hermione not used magic to save the cup. And it had still been a close call. But after breakfast and potions, her mood had seemed to improve.

Until now.

Hermione sat on the sofa next to her, wand in hand, several diagnostic charms at the tip of her tongue. "How are you feeling right now?"

"Annoyed." She shut her planner and sent it to the table with a smooth push of magic. "I _despise_ walking, yet here you are."

All of her slowly mounting worries temporarily vanished as she suppressed her laugh by clearing her throat. "I've already explained the importance of having a physical activity routine. We've been lax on it, but now that your symptoms have levelled off, I feel it's a good time to integrate it." At that, she earned a dark glower. "Perhaps we can compromise. Is there an activity that you enjoy doing that we can substitute?"

Narcissa offered a testy look in response. "I am going to the spa today, as recommended. In fact, I leave within the hour and will return before dinner."

"Good for circulation, but not exercise. I only suggested walking as it's a lower impact activity. Perhaps swimming? Zippy told me that there's a pool inside—"

"That is Draco's domain. He swims twice a day. Sometimes more." Narcissa waved her hand with casual poise. "I, myself, have never gone down there, nor do I intend to, as I find the act tedious and unbecoming."

 _Unbecoming of what exactly?_ But Hermione didn't ask that, she knew how and when to pick her battles. She'd also learned that sometimes, if she waited long enough and let things settle, she wouldn't have to fight at all.

Narcissa's eyes softened as if struck by a memory, fiddling with the ever-present ring around her neck as she often did while contemplating. "I enjoy gardening as a whole," she confessed softly, much to Hermione's surprise. "It was the only task at the Manor I did not allow the elves to do. The only task I did with minimal magic. I happen to find it incredibly relaxing and the outcome is always rewarding so I don't mind the labour."

Which actually meant she didn't mind sweating, as long as it was on her own terms.

It made perfect sense.

Amongst all their differences, it was something that they had in common.

Something she could work with. Something they could grow from.

"I have a greenhouse and garden that regularly need work, if you're interested."

Narcissa contemplated it for a moment before smoothing down the front of her robes. "I suppose it will do for your required physical activity." Her tone was so dry it could have caught fire, but Hermione caught a hint of colour in her cheeks and a twinkle in her eye that verified her true feelings.

_Delight._

For the second time, Hermione suppressed her smile with her fist, but for an entirely different reason. She cleared her throat. "I'll add it to your schedule?"

"See that you do." Narcissa glanced at her watch. "I prefer to garden in the morning after breakfast. We can begin tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to schedule that in." While Narcissa continued her tea, Hermione sat in patient silence, but not for long. "How are you feeling on the potions?"

"More like myself than I have in months. However, I have noticed that the afternoon potions increase my appetite, and that simply won't do."

"There's nothing to be done about that, I'm afraid."

"Are there not other alternatives that would remedy this? I am aware it sounds vain, but it's concerning."

"Perhaps, I can look into an alternative." At the look of relief on Narcissa's face, Hermione added a disclaimer: "I'm not making any promises."

"I understand." The older witch nodded. "Also, there is one matter I wish to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

"Particularly about your meals." Hermione visibly relaxed, but readied herself for an argument until she noticed a hint of hesitation. It reminded her of Malfoy, which tickled her curiosity. "I understand that we have agreed to one meal a day during the week. However, I am finding everything I eat outside of breakfast dissatisfying and unpalatable." Which might as well have been a compliment. "I understand that our agreement…"

"If you like, perhaps I can add dinner, something hearty but healthy. I can make meals ahead of time for you, enough to last through the week and weekend. Something that can be reheated or charmed to remain fresh." At the little sign of interest, she continued. "We can come up with a menu based off of the fruits and vegetables in season. I can start preparing snacks to curb your appetite after your potions. We can adjust to your taste."

Narcissa finished her tea and leaned forward, placing it on the glass coffee table facing the fireplace. "I would like that."

"Good."

Feeling more than accomplished, as that had been the most that she'd gotten out of Narcissa since becoming her Healer, Hermione started to rise when the witch seated next to her said something that kept her seated. "Also, I quite enjoy your tea selection, but would like to be afforded the opportunity to sample other blends."

"As you wish." Hermione smiled. "Any particular preferences?"

Once Narcissa left for the spa following a pleasant lunch where they scheduled time for her to garden, Hermione decided to treat her patient with a surprise dinner of baked wild salmon and salad upon her return, elated by the progress they had made on several fronts.

Dinner preparation had been easy.

The tip with salmon was to not season it too early or the salt would break down the proteins and draw moisture out of the fish, so until Hermione was ready to bake, she went about preparing the salad. Normally, she would have made it warm with asparagus heads, fennel, and radishes, but instead—knowing Narcissa's preference for refreshing foods and cold salads during the warmer months—she created a blend of freshly picked spinach and arugula, tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers with a sherry vinaigrette she'd made that wouldn't be too strong.

Simple yet flavourful.

By the time Scorpius' nanny entered the kitchen with purposeful, rubber-soled strides, Hermione was busy humming to herself while slicing tomatoes and cucumbers. She looked up to greet the witch the same way she always did: with a distant yet polite _hello_ , but halted when she noted the frustrated grimace on her face. Panic rolled off her in waves while she purposefully searched the living room, looking under the table and behind all the furniture.

Likely Scorpius-related.

It wasn't that he was wild—quite the opposite—but even on a good day, Catherine Prichard barely had her wits about her. Hermione thought it had a lot to do with Narcissa's need for strict routines and order. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Catherine, at twenty-one, was almost too young for such an encompassing position and incapable of standing up for herself, especially when Narcissa was being unreasonable.

It was a wonder she had kept the nanny on, or hired her in the first place, but Hermione got the impression that Catherine was the latest caretaker on a long list that had come before her—all driven away for a variety of reasons that Hermione wasn't privy to.

But what she did know was that the help _always_ talked.

Which meant one thing: Catherine, however inexperienced, would be hard to replace.

The witch only spotted Hermione at the island when her search turned to the kitchen. Her face smoothed into a tight smile that did nothing to hide the fact that she was troubled. "Hello, Miss Granger."

She tried not to bristle, but being called Miss Granger by someone easily ten years younger made her feel incredibly old. "Please, call me Hermione."

It wasn't the first time she'd said this, but her request fell on distracted ears as Catherine pulled open the cupboard, looked inside, and shut it with a frustrated groan. "I wish locator charms worked in this house."

"Oh, if you're looking for Narcissa, she's gone to the spa and will be back later."

Catherine's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you for letting me know that, but I'm not looking for Narcissa for the status update." She and Zippy seemed to rotate the task of updating Narcissa on her grandson's lessons with his tutors.

It didn't make much sense to Hermione. Actually, none of it did.

Why hire a nanny when she had a perfectly capable House-elf that could—with a snap of his fingers—easily handle all matters concerning both housework and child supervision?

Strange, but also none of her concern.

Catherine looked around as if Narcissa might be eavesdropping. "In truth, I've lost Scorpius." Hermione's eyes widened, her task instantly forgotten. Sure, he was quiet, but how could she _possibly_ lose an entire _child_? The nanny cringed, clearly reading Hermione's expression. "I know, but I was discussing a timetable for when they would be adding Latin lessons with his tutor and Zippy was off cleaning. When I turned around, Scorpius was gone. Have you seen him?"

To keep her distaste to herself about a five-year-old's strict schedule, Hermione squatted down to the lower cabinet she was in front of to grab the salad bowl. "I ha— _oh my goodness!_ "

She nearly lost her balance, heart hammering like a war drum in her chest. Instead of her bowl, she found _Scorpius_.

His blue eyes went wide with shock as he clutched the open dictionary tightly to his chest, no doubt wrinkling the pages. He had been just as startled as Hermione, but unlike her, he hadn't made a sound.

There were several questions running around like people escaping from a smoke-filled room, but the first one was the most important: _How long had he been there?_

Hermione instinctively looked around the space he'd created, spotting her bowl directly next to his feet. It wasn't too cramped; outside of the kitchen items she'd left to stop the back and forth, there was hardly anything in the storage space inside the island. It was the perfect crawl space for a child who was currently staring at her like an owl.

"Miss Granger?" The now _alarmed_ Catherine appeared at the end of the island. "Are you okay?"

"Um…" Hermione gripped the open cabinet door, blinking at the little boy. Instantly, she noted the sharp spike in his anxiety as he started to fidget and look for an escape. The level of stress coming from a child so young _bothered_ her on a deeper level than she cared to admit. "I…"

And it really, _really_ wasn't any of her business.

Truly it wasn't.

Not in the slightest.

But… she'd never quite gotten the mental image of him falling apart out of her head and she hadn't been able to forget him calling for his mother while asleep in his father's arms. She continued moving his cup each morning and waving him goodbye, all while feeling more and more drawn to him. Unable to look away. Like now.

Scorpius' eyes turned desperate; holding onto hers like a lifeline. The world began slowing on its axis. Not because she had made a decision, but because it had been made before she knew there was one to make.

"I haven't seen him."

Genuine surprise spread across the little boy's features and she ripped herself from his gaze, turning her head towards Catherine. Then she stood. "Sorry for alarming you, I seem to have forgotten a bowl I was looking for. But no, I haven't seen him. If I do, I'll bring him to you straight away."

"Thank you." Catherine smiled so genuinely she almost felt bad for lying. _Almost_. "He's especially good at hiding when he's tired of lessons, I'll check his normal spots."

"Good idea." Hermione reached for her wand as soon as the nanny turned her head. With a whisper, she cast a charm that would ensure she wouldn't return. It was a simple charm really, nothing that would hurt her, but anytime she thought of the kitchen, another room with another hiding spot would pull her away. The nanny went stiff the moment the spell made contact, but kept walking, her shoes echoing on the wood floor as she went.

Positive that Catherine wouldn't come back, Hermione set her wand on the counter and sank to her knees, resting back on her heels.

If at all possible, Scorpius looked even cagier.

Hermione wondered why, but the answer was as clear as glass. Outside of seeing her every morning at breakfast and their lone interaction beyond that, Scorpius didn't _know_ her. Or _trust_ her.

First things first?

A reintroduction.

"Hi." She extended her hand with a soft, sincere grin. "I'm Hermione."

It must have been a Malfoy thing because Scorpius studied at her hand as if it were a particularly confusing word in the dictionary he still clutched to his chest. Then his eyes flicked back to hers. Ultimately, Scorpius made no attempt to accept what she was offering. Instead, he carefully smoothed the wrinkles from the page of his beloved book.

While she hadn't expected to see a child so reverent about a book, Hermione _had_ anticipated the snub; she wasn't offended. "Do you want to come out of there?"

Scorpius shook his head.

No surprise there, either.

With a patience reserved for children and animals, Hermione's head bobbed with a nod as she pushed her hair over her shoulder. "That's fine." She paused then gestured to the book. "Can I see what you're looking at?"

It was an innocent enough request for him to comply, manoeuvring the large book so she could see the page. Then he pointed at the plant.

 _Ah_.

That was simple.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, making herself as non-threatening as possible. "Do you like plants, Scorpius?"

Still hesitant, he answered with a slow nod.

It was enough.

"I love them, too," Hermione disclosed with a soft smile. Blue eyes narrowed at her warily, and Hermione was amused at how expressive Scorpius could be despite his silence. "So much that I keep them close. In fact—" Blindly, she reached up and felt around until her hand came into contact with her beaded bag and she pulled it down. Scorpius observed with growing curiosity as half her hand disappeared into the bag before finding what she'd been looking for.

A sprig of mint.

She offered it to him. "Here."

Without accepting, Scorpius examined the herb closely. He was so completely focused on the task that Hermione had all the time in the world to just observe him, unable to do anything else. Scorpius wore his normal attire: blazer, white shirt, shorts, and socks to his knees. Like a proper schoolboy. Nothing amiss there… _well_ , except for the fact that he was hiding in a cabinet with a book.

For some unknown reason.

A feeling had settled deep in her gut ever since she'd entered the house, overheard the bits of conversations pertaining to the little boy, and actually _observed_ him. A feeling that had only grown the more she saw him—studied him. A feeling that told her right then that perhaps this cabinet wasn't the first one he'd hidden in.

His _incidents_ , as Narcissa had called them. Perhaps these were it. Moments when he snuck off and disappeared in places around the house like the day by the window. Today it was the small, cramped space where no one knew to look for him. It made sense to her. His schedule was so restrictive that it didn't leave him much room to express himself like children his age typically would. It didn't give him time to relax—or play. It didn't allow much for anything, actually.

Scorpius Malfoy had no free will.

Hiding seemed less like an act of rebellion or a fear response, and more like he was seeking sanctuary.

 _Freedom_.

"You can hold it," Hermione told the boy who was still inspecting the spring of mint pinched between her fingers. "You can smell it, too, and even _eat it_." At the dissecting look that reminded her far too much of his father, she couldn't help but smother her amusement into her closed fist. Then she gave him a choice. "I can show you, but only when you're ready to come out, okay?"

Still trying to determine what to make of her, Scorpius' eyes went from hers to the mint bundle, back and forth, much like a curious woodland creature would before they scampered off deeper into the forest.

Back to safety.

"How about this, I'll finish preparing your grandmother's dinner and if you'd like, then I'll show you other things you can do with mint." Once the suggestion was out, Hermione mentally scrambled in an attempt to plan for something she hadn't anticipated doing in the first place. But she had his full attention. Twisting the mint between her fingers, she offered it to him again. "Would you hold onto it and keep it safe? Can you do that for me?"

Scorpius put the book down with child-like clumsiness that should have been normal, but was odd given how shrewd he seemed. It was then she realised why. He was _interested_. Curious. Ready to accept the responsibility. So much so that after nodding, eyes locked on the mint as if it were a shiny new toy, he accepted the sprig with reverent fingers.

It was adorable, really, watching him light up when he smelled it. His eyes went wide, as if shocked that it actually smelled nice, that she had been honest with him. Then Scorpius sniffed the herb again, much like someone would roses; when he saw her staring, his face evened out.

Closed up.

Hermione didn't push it, knowing better than to say anything else. She allowed her actions to speak louder than words and left the cabinet door open for him to accept her offer.

When he was ready.

Hermione returned to her task of cutting up the tomatoes and cucumbers for Narcissa's salad, seasoned the salmon and put it into the oven to bake at the proper temperature before she set her watch.

She glanced over at the open cabinet door to see if he'd used it.

Hoping he would.

And if her heart raced at the appearance of a little blond head peeking from the cabinet—well, that was only because he'd startled her. Not because she had been waiting patiently while cleaning up the evidence of food preparation without magic.

Not at all.

Scorpius' small, pale hand gripped the cabinet only moments before he stood to his full height, facing away from her until he turned. Mint sprig still in his hand, the silent boy carefully closed the door, minding his fingers before Hermione could instinctively tell him to after having said it so many times before to Harry's children.

Awkwardly, he held the mint out to her and her heart just _warmed_.

"Thank you, but hold onto it just a bit longer, okay?"

They stared at each other with Scorpius still holding the bundle out, blinking with an expression that faintly reminded her of a child waiting for something to happen.

Like a magic trick.

Oh, right.

He was used to things being prepared in front of his face with the snap of Zippy's fingers.

"I don't use magic," she said candidly as an idea formed in her head, making her realise she would need a few items from home. "It'll take some time. I have one thing that I need to get from my house. Take a seat right here and I'll be right back."

Before he could react, Hermione left him standing there, grabbing her bag and hurrying into the living room Floo. When she stepped out of her own fireplace, she could hear Pansy yelling at someone upstairs—likely about the tub that was being delivered that day—but it didn't matter.

Hermione was on a mission.

After looking around, she quickly found the right ingredients and stuffed them all into her beaded bag. Another handful of Floo powder brought her back to the Malfoy's home where…

Where Scorpius stood right in front of the fireplace, his face carefully blank in a way that reminded her of James when he was trying to look like he wasn't doing something he—in fact—had been doing all along. And he looked as if he _hadn't_ been waiting right there the entire time.

Awaiting her return while holding her mint.

Just like that, her breath caught from visualising Scorpius just _anticipating_ her return, but not knowing when she would. _Or if_ , her internal voice whispered as Hermione reflected in mounting, unfamiliar dread. He didn't speak, so words were useless. She couldn't ask him how he felt, but there were little cues Scorpius gave off that gave her pause. He reminded her so much of Al when he was struggling.

He reminded her that _words_ couldn't always tell someone's story.

Al was an anxious boy who required more attention than his siblings; it was the entire purpose of his bi-monthly visits. However, his nerves weren't born out of any stressful situations or neglect. They were natural. He would grow out of them as he conquered his fears, of that she was confident.

And while Hermione didn't know about Scorpius outside of their staring sessions over breakfast and their one conversation, she would bet her salary that distress played a part in both the flush of his cheeks and how stiffly he was standing at attention during his wait. There was no doubt in her mind that he was well-taken care of, but with Narcissa's firm hand, Malfoy's absence, and Astoria's death…

Hermione kneeled in front of the unreadable little boy, something she did with Al to put them face to face. She didn't touch him, but made certain she kept eye contact when she said, "I just rushed out of here. I'm so sorry about that. I won't do that again, okay?"

Scorpius relaxed only long enough to unlock his knees. Then his blond head bobbed.

"Are you ready? I've got everything we need." Hermione flashed a reassuring smile and held up her beaded bag as evidence, but Scorpius only blinked as if she had three heads. Wondering if all the progress she'd made to get him out of his hiding spot had been lost, Hermione righted herself and led the way back to the kitchen.

When she looked over her shoulder, Scorpius was following behind her with a look on his face that spoke of his hesitation. But that didn't seem to stop him. And Hermione didn't allow her own apprehension to speak any louder than it already was, she muffled it in favour of looking over her shoulder once again.

Perhaps not all had been lost after all.

Smiling to herself, Hermione started setting up while Scorpius stood next to the stool; the top of his towhead barely peeked over the counter. After pulling out strawberries, blueberries, apples, oranges, and honey, she heard a chair scraping against wood. Curious, she abandoned her spot and peeked around the island—only to find the five-year-old still holding the mint while trying to manoeuvre his way onto the barstool.

And failing.

"Would you like some help?"

Obviously, Scorpius hadn't seen her because he was momentarily startled. He declined with a distracted shake of his head, attempting again to climb his way onto the stool. He wasn't successful. After suppressing a smile at his stomp of frustration, Hermione whispered a quiet charm that stuck the chair to the floor… so he could use the steps.

By the time he was situated, Hermione was already back at the island directly across from where he was seated, slicing strawberries and peeling oranges.

While her audience was mesmerized by her task, she observed the way his blond brows furrowed in concentration at each of her actions. She struggled with the abnormal silence. Whenever she cooked for Harry's kids, there was never a moment's peace. In fact, she never had associated _quiet_ and _children_ together in one thought before she'd met Scorpius. James _never_ stopped talking, Al only talked in small groups or when he was one-on-one, and Lily was surprisingly eloquent for a three-year-old.

Scorpius just watching her in patient examination was so bizarre that she found herself filling the silence with pointless conversation, describing every step of her process. "I'm making fruit salad. I usually make it with pecans, but I don't know if you're allergic. I'll ask—" At the way he briefly tensed, Hermione scrunched her face. "I'll ask _someone_." She shrugged and continued on when he relaxed. "After I peel the oranges, I'll do the same with kiwi and apples. Then I'll add the strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries together in the bowls for us. I'll drizzle the honey on it all and chop up the mint and sprinkle it on top. Does that sound good?"

Scorpius' blue eyes met hers before he agreed stiffly, handing over the bundle of mint for chopping. Hermione accepted it for the second time with a warm smile.

"Maybe next time I'll make you something sweet like sorbet. Have you ever had it?"

It was something she'd made for Harry's kids a few times, when they'd stopped fighting long enough to agree on a flavour. Scorpius looked bewildered and that saddened her. Not because he hadn't had it—with Narcissa's firm hand, that had been expected—but rather because sorbet in the summer was almost as good as magic itself, and he'd never known the joy of racing to eat it on a hot afternoon before it melted.

It was an experience.

Something memorable.

She couldn't help but wonder how many moments like that Scorpius had missed. Or had yet to experience. Or never would. Not the important ones, but the minor ones that didn't mean much to anyone outside of the memory, but _everything_ to the one living it. Moments that a child would reminisce about later in life with a smile on their face and joy in their heart. As Hermione did exactly as described, she found herself wanting to do _more_ with the short notice she'd been given.

Quietly, she longed for it to be just enough to invoke a feeling.

A memory.

A moment he'd look back on fondly.

 _Something_.

As Hermione prepared fruit salad, she stole little glances at Scorpius, who watched the short process as if there were going to be a test on it. When completed, she placed the bowl of fruit salad in front of him, sprinkled the minced mint on top and chuckled to herself at how eager he seemed to try it. Then she frowned in confusion when he continued to wait with odd patience.

_Oh, right._

He didn't have a fork.

As a demonstration, Hermione picked up a cut strawberry and popped it into her mouth, chewing a few times before swallowing.

"Sometimes fruit tastes best when you eat it with your hands." Next she picked up a blueberry, gently encouraging him to do the same.

Scorpius was highly sceptical, frowning so hard it looked like he was going to crumble upon himself. In fact, his expression was so pinched that Hermione almost retrieved a fork for him to use. But then Scorpius picked up a cut orange that had bits of honey and mint on it, and eyed it carefully before bringing it to his mouth.

Hermione bit back her own smile when his eyes lit up upon tasting it.

_He liked it._

She let him eat with his hands a little longer before joining him with her own bowl and two forks, giving him the option of whether or not he wanted to use it. For a while, Scorpius didn't, simply enjoying his fruit salad with a content look on his face and sticky hands. But, eventually, his training won out and he picked up the fork. The first attempt was blueberry that rolled right off the fork and down his white shirt, staining it.

"Whoops," she said in an absent yet playful tone, ready to get down and pick up the fruit that had fallen onto the floor.

Al was a messy eater, too. Dropping fruit on the floor was practically a rite of passage. But the distressed look on the boy's face stopped Hermione, and made her halt her comparisons of the two children. Scorpius dropped the fork, visibly shaken, looking around as if someone were going to walk in the room and find him with a mess on his shirt.

Though he wanted to, he didn't touch his shirt because his hands were sticky from the honey, which only upset him further. His cheeks flushed.

Hermione had no idea why his mood had shifted so drastically, but managed to get his attention. "Hey, it's okay. Can I help?"

That only made his face go redder. She reached for her wand and Vanished the blemishes on his hands and shirt, which… calmed him down. He was no longer looking at her, instead peering down at his hands. It made Hermione instantly want to help, made her recall the sequence of events that had led up to that point.

Scorpius had been perfectly fine with messy hands, so that hadn't been the issue. He'd only become distraught after his shirt bore a visible stain. Which made Hermione wonder if it had less to do with the blueberry spot itself, and more to do with being caught with evidence of a mistake.

An imperfection.

Hermione offered her hand to him that was stained with the juice of berries she'd cut. "I have stains, too. Take a look." She adjusted on the stool, facing him and holding onto the seat while he did the same, facing her. "I have so many, actually." Hermione pointed to each imperfection on her jeans, starting with the knees. "From weeding this morning." Then she pointed to a faint stain on the centre of her shirt. "From breakfast. Your dad startled me."

_With his entrance and stiff, unprompted Good Morning._

Hermione had dribbled a bit of poached egg on her shirt.

She had no idea why Malfoy had startled her so badly. He'd been greeting her ever since that night with Scorpius. It felt like a temporary ceasefire that Hermione had accepted. She would keep her comments to a minimum and he would materialise and look as though he'd actually rested.

 _On the sofa_ , her traitorous mind reminded her.

That twinge bothered her more than the stain on her already yellow shirt.

"Stains are okay," Hermione told the young boy who was staring at the dirt on her knee with a pinched expression. "They happen because no one's perfect. Not even me. Your grandmother nearly spilled tea today, so she's not perfect either."

At that, Scorpius lifted his head, blue eyes sharp and inquiring. When would she recover from the shock of him and his mannerisms reminding her so much of his father? _Probably never_ , Hermione thought with an internal shrug and fond chuckle at the little boy who was still eyeing her, basically telling her to elaborate.

So, she did.

"She's not perfect. And that's _good_. Just like sometimes stains like yours and mine are good." Hermione opened her blemished hands to him, but his eyes remained fixed on her. Listening. "I could clean them away with magic, just like I did yours, but it's okay that I don't. I'm proud of mine. They show that I've worked hard. And when I'm ready, I can just wipe them away and start fresh."

Hermione did just that with a fluid movement of her wand and a whispered spell. His eyes widened in wonder, much like they did when she performed diagnostic charms on Narcissa at breakfast. He was intrigued by magic. "One day, you'll be able to do this, too."

Scorpius appeared confused.

Hermione grinned. "Yes, you'll go off to school and learn just as your father did, and—"

Zippy popped into the room and spotted them both. "Miss Prichard is searching for Young Master. He _must_ resume his lessons."

For the first time, Hermione heard Scorpius make a noise when he sighed before glancing over at her with wide, innocent eyes. It was almost like he was begging her to let him stay. But he couldn't. He'd stayed long enough. She'd given him a well-deserved reprieve.

"It's time to go back to your lessons." Hermione slid off the stool and helped a now pouty Scorpius down. He sullenly fixed his blazer and one of his socks that had rolled down a little.

Perfect again, the little boy turned to leave, but before he could—well, Hermione couldn't help herself. She tapped his small shoulder, which made him turn back to her with sad eyes and pink cheeks. As she had in front of the fireplace, she kneeled in front of Scorpius, putting herself at his eye level. She had no idea why, but Hermione told him, "Thank you for keeping my mint safe."

After hesitating, Scorpius bowed, all stiff movements like he'd been taught.

But when he lifted his head, Hermione shook hers. There were so many things she found herself wanting to tell the little boy while she had his full attention, but instead, she was flooded by odd emotions—regret, empathy, wonder, and just plain old exhaustion.

"Don't bow to me, only smile. When you're ready."

But he didn't, obviously puzzled by her request.

It had never been her place to care about the quietest child she'd ever met, but it wasn't enough to stop Hermione from wanting to hug the sour look off his face like she'd done to Al countless times. Not enough to stop her from wanting to make promises just to make him smile for a bit. It was a similar sentiment to the emotions she felt for Harry and Ginny's kids.

Despite all the ways he was different, Scorpius was also the same.

Just a child.

And a lonely one at that.

But as she grappled with what to say, Scorpius watched her with ever-increasing curiosity, even taking an unconscious step forward—one of significance she recognised for what it was: he was trying, making a small connection and an effort to open the door she'd unconsciously unlocked by providing him sanctuary.

Instead of twisting the lock back into place as she should have, Hermione left it up to him by not saying another word. Allowing _him_ to make a decision about her. Giving _him_ the choice.

She extended an open hand for him to take.

Which he did, slipping his small hand into hers, holding on until they both heard Zippy move behind him. Then he let go. Scorpius only looked back at her once before they vanished from sight, but Hermione remained rooted to her spot long after he left.

It was a _mistake_.

The entire encounter had been one mistake after another. An overstep on her part—one of those that had been so far over the edge there was no going back. And yet…

Hermione had a lot of regrets, things that she could have done differently or said better. She accepted her flaws for what they were. Owned her mistakes. Understood the sources of her shame. But her inability to continue turning a blind eye to Scorpius—his blue eyes, sweet and guarded spirit, or his silence—much to her utter shock, wasn't something she regretted _at all_.

" _Fuck._ "

* * *

Narcissa had been pleased with the surprise extra meal, so Hermione left her to eat it alone at the outdoor table while she enjoyed the setting sun and music from the Wireless. It was later than Hermione usually stayed, as she typically turned the reins over to Zippy to handle her dinners and evening potions after lunch.

Tonight, she would have gone home, but didn't as she needed to make one last stop.

Since accepting Narcissa as a patient, Hermione had been drafting a list of questions that couldn't be answered by her patient or file. Some of her questions had inadvertently been answered by Pansy, but there were more than a few left that could only be answered by one person.

Her son.

Who owed her a favour.

Armed with parchment and a peace offering in the form of a dinner plate, Hermione went to his office.

Malfoy sat at his slightly cluttered desk where it appeared he was still working on his translations. The back of his chair faced forward and the only part of him that she could see was the very top of his head. But that wasn't what first caught her attention.

That honour belonged to a copy of a very familiar blueprint charmed to float at eye-level.

Now, instead of pins, there were coloured letters. A through E. From the doorway, Hermione could hear the sound of a quill scratching against parchment, but couldn't see the evidence that he was writing. His head rose from the parchment before lowering to the blueprint, taking what sounded like detailed notes.

So focused on his task, Malfoy didn't notice her presence until she knocked on his open door.

The intrusion made him sigh hard before rotating in his chair. "Mother, I'm _not_ in the mood to discuss another one of those _insipid_ Marriage M—"

His eyes landed on her, then on the plate in her hand. All of the frustration in his voice, the tension in his shoulders, and the lines on his forehead smoothed out into an expression that wasn't _quite_ indifference. But close.

"Granger." Malfoy released the quill in his hand, allowing it to float beside his head as he leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on each arm. He was the picture of tense ease, an oxymoron, and yet Hermione was beginning to understand that was his default response to _her_.

Not a threat, but also not an ally. Just _something_.

She understood the sentiment; it resembled her own.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"May I come in? I made your mother dinner and figured you hadn't eaten. Have you?" Hermione asked, not moving from the doorway.

Malfoy stared at her with an odd expression. A strange moment that ended with an honest response. "I have not."

"Are you hungry? It's salmon and roasted vegetables. I'm not sure what you like but—"

"That's fine." He gestured for her to come in, an offer she accepted, placing the plate on a clear spot on his desk. She didn't sit, but stole a glance around the room while Malfoy pretended not to examine the food. Hermione didn't want to watch him eat any more than he wanted her to watch, so she ventured to the wall of books.

Everything still looked the same, except the ladder, which had been moved recently.

 _What was he reading?_ The question rang odd in her own head so Hermione ignored it because what did Draco Malfoy's reading list matter in the grand scheme of things? _Nothing_.

"Scorpius is asleep on the sofa, if you're here to start that argument we never finished."

_Oh?_

Without any hesitation, she ventured to the sofa and found Scorpius covered up by the same blanket she'd covered his father with. He looked content, small on the large sofa, and adorable with his thumb in his mouth. From across the room, she heard the sound of a fork scraping against a plate and almost looked up to see if he liked the food, but refrained. Her attention went from Scorpius to the photo above the fireplace then back to the books before settling on the little boy again.

"Does he fall asleep here everyday?"

"No," Malfoy replied after a moment's pause. "Not ten minutes ago, he went directly to the sofa and fell asleep."

Automatically, she brought the blanket to Scorpius' shoulders, tucking him in, ignoring the weight of his father's inspection. By now, she was used to it, even found it a comfortable norm for them. Hermione approached Malfoy's desk next. She didn't sit, but did notice that he had at least _tried_ the food. Eaten a portion of it. It was hard to determine by expression alone if he liked it, but Hermione didn't try to puzzle it out, only handed him the parchment.

"I have written out a few questions about your mother that only you can answer to fulfill your promised favour."

Absently, Malfoy reached for his reading glasses, putting them on before staring at the top of her parchment. He flipped through the pages quickly, eyes widening slightly at the sheer number of questions. "A few?" Malfoy's usual drawl was tinged with a hint of amusement. "There are forty-six questions."

Equally spaced for ample room to answer.

"I'm thorough."

"That you are." It didn't sound unkind, just an obvious statement. He peered up at her from above the rim of his glasses that had slid down his nose. "Thorough enough to observe my mother at a charity event."

Ah, so they were going to talk about this.

Hermione only shrugged. "It's a part of my job." At his doubtful look, she shifted her weight from her left to right. "I watched your mother for symptoms or blank moments, signs of agitation. I need to know what they look like, how they come on, and any cues she gives before they occur. She had none that night."

Malfoy's next query came after a short pause. "Why not ask her directly?"

It was a fair question. "Perhaps she may remember what she was feeling before an episode, but she _definitely_ wouldn't know how she looked. If she got suddenly hot or cold, whether the expression on her face had changed or not. There are little signs that can only be observed."

He stared at her for several moments, seemingly turning her words over in his mind. "Seems plausible." It sounded like a concession and Hermione felt victorious until he glanced back at her list. "I'm too busy tonight to answer these before bed. Perhaps you should just ask my mother. You have a talent for aggravating her into doing things she doesn't want to do."

Another backhanded compliment.

Hermione had already walked down that avenue and ended up at a dead end on each of those forty-six questions. "She'll only provide information she's willing to part with."

Obviously, a family trait.

"I fail to see how…" Malfoy trailed off, eyes back on her parchment, flipping to the third page. "Question nineteen is relevant."

"I would argue that the Black's tendencies towards mental illness are _absolutely_ relevant to her current condition, especially should anyone want to determine if her form of dementia is hereditary. And there will be research done."

Malfoy fixed his glasses, shooting her an appraising look. "You've memorised the questions?"

"Of course, I wrote them."

He took a second look, but suddenly frowned, mood darkening. "This is going to take time that I don't have right now. Perhaps we can schedule a time and place to go through them."

"Okay." She quickly ran through a list of possible compromises that wouldn't antagonise Malfoy any more than absolutely necessary. "My office should do. Feel free to schedule the date and time."

"Will do." Mission accomplished, Hermione turned and headed for the door, nearly breaching the doorway when his voice rang out in the silence. "This doesn't taste bad."

That wasn't at all what she had expected and it made her turn around.

"Thank you? I can't tell if that's a compliment."

"It's not an insult." He kept his eyes on her for a long moment. "I confirmed the secret passageway."

"Oh?" Intrigued, she waited until he nodded before she asked, "And the plan?"

"Moving forward."

That was good.

"Are you sleeping?"

Malfoy's annoyance was visceral, but she waited for an answer anyway, which he eventually gave with a sigh. "I am no longer needed on overnights. The hideout was found Sunday morning and it was abandoned. Hestia has sent in a team of investigators to gather evidence."

"Good to know." Even though he didn't answer the question. Hermione let it go and folded her arms across her chest, bag wrapped around her wrist. "And training?" She had already asked Harry about it once, so while she knew the answer, she found herself wanting to hear his side of things. His perspective.

Malfoy grimaced at the question. "It's going about as well as it can with Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Magical Law Enforcement officers fresh out of training. But Potter…" He trailed off with a sour expression that conveyed the fact that he was more willing to simultaneously eat plutonium while having his organs removed with a rusty spoon than admit to whatever was about to come out of his mouth. "Potter isn't a _completely_ useless teacher."

After suppressing her amusement behind a delicate cough, she let the still-grimacing man in on a little secret…

"Funny, he said the same thing about _you_."

Malfoy couldn't hide his surprise—or the flash of pride—fast enough before schooling his features behind a suspicious, narrow glare. But it was too late. She'd seen every bit of it.

And just a bit more of _him_.

_The man who removes a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.  
_ **Chinese Proverb**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday! Welcome to the continuing shift happening. I know there's a lot of things to unpack: bits about Draco's marriage, the whole traditional aspect, Pansy and Percy, Narcissa and Hermione's cooling of tension as well as the same happening between her and Draco (and other stuff), but mainly Scorp's moment of sanctuary (which is what the title is named after) and the changes from that (in him taking her hand FINALLY). Ahhhhhh. So many moving parts. So much to come. See you all Friday. Thanks to my alpha/beta hybrid, dreamsofdramione and my alpha Baily0407. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr (inadaze22) if you have any questions. Last week, I got a good one about my visions for Hermione's house and garden as well as Draco's office and house.


	11. The Facets of Human Connection

**  
Eleven  
** _The Facets of Human Connection_

_**May 27, 2011** _

  
For all the questions Hermione had about Draco Malfoy, she at least had one answer

Like his mother and son, he was a creature of habit and routine. Malfoy was staunch with his morning swim. Particular with how he spent his time during tea. Uncompromising when it came to his rituals surrounding crosswords and reading the morning paper. But at the same time, he wasn't _too_ rigid, able to compromise. Hermione's presence had made him adjust his routine slightly—even if only by force. Now it had expanded to include gruff greetings, toleration for whatever tea she had made, and conversation.

The surface of this man remained true to the person she knew he once was, right down to his attire and the way in which he parted his hair.

It was an odd thought, considering there was much more to him, a deep chasm of intricate thoughts and reasons behind his actions and all the pieces that made up his identity. Hermione was barely skimming just beneath the surface, just beginning her quest to understand who he was now.

But this morning represented a shift—a small dip.

It was ten minutes past seven, and Malfoy was _still_ there, showing no signs of leaving.

It was—well, first and foremost— _odd_.

He wasn't reading, she could tell when he was—his intense concentration gave him away. Malfoy engrossed himself in whatever he was reading, regardless of interest. Hermione could quietly relate. But right then, his attention went from the paper, to his watch, then to her, head tilted as if he had a pressing question that he would not ask. Malfoy went through three cycles of this before she realised what was happening.

He was _waiting_.

On what, Hermione had no idea. Whatever it was, he seemed to battle back and forth with himself about it while she kept to her task of making Narcissa's breakfast: buckwheat crepes with ham, spinach, and mushrooms. Healthy and light. She only had plans to make two: one for herself and one for Narcissa, but Malfoy's prolonged presence left her needing something to do. So, she made a third, packed it into a glass container charmed to maintain freshness, and placed it next to him. The glass clicking against the granite broke the silence.

"What's this?" Malfoy cut his eyes to the container, then back to her in mild suspicion.

"Breakfast. I made an extra." Hermione shrugged. "You can leave it if you'd like. I've noticed you only drink tea. I've never seen you eat a meal before leaving, except for your protein drinks."

And that was odd, too.

"That's because I don't." With two crisp actions, he folded the paper and checked his watch one last time.

"What are you waiting for?" It wasn't a question she intended to ask, their conversation for the morning was long since over, but she couldn't help herself. Malfoy was so off-course that he was throwing her off, too.

"Nothing." Obviously a lie. "I have an inquiry in thirty minutes with Chief Warlock McLaggen. My third."

Hermione cringed.

Third? Tiberius must have been very suspicious… or _very_ paranoid. Or both. But she remembered who she was speaking to: Draco Malfoy, whose reputation for being on the wrong side of every war had preceded him.

The restoration movement would be yet another wrong side for anyone who wished for things to remain the same. And taking no side would be just as wrong to someone who wanted change, someone like her. Malfoy couldn't win either way. The difference between good and evil was clear from all sides, but distorted by perception and motivation, and hardly ever processed with any sense of clarity. Draco Malfoy was doomed to spend his life in the grey—always suspected and never trusted, regardless of stance.

And for the first time, Hermione wondered—well, nevermind.

She cleared the discomfort lodged in her throat. "You should probably be gone then."

Malfoy hummed his low, rumbling agreement. It sounded like brass, refined and polished. "I suppose."

But he didn't move.

For several seconds, Hermione watched him from the corner of her eye. Not yet ready to eat, she sipped tea and catalogued her thoughts. Malfoy's reputation was limited by what others thought of him. Preconceived notions. Not who he was. Hermione had learned over the years, as she struggled to find her own identity outside of her reputation, that it was a convoluted construct and struggle. People were in a constant state of flux, shifting and evolving. Hermione wasn't immune to it…

And neither was he.

The thought weighed so heavily on her mind that the warning slipped out unchecked. "Don't drink the tea."

A single blond brow rose above the rim of his glasses. "Did you?"

"No. I just thought—"

"I'm an Occlumens, Granger. I can withstand Veritaserum. He doesn't know this as it's not in my file." Harry had mentioned that Malfoy had been trained ages ago, but the knowledge had been lost to time. That it wasn't in his file—well, that was definitely a violation but… also, none of Hermione's business. She wouldn't judge as most of the Wizengamot's activities and interests toed the proverbial line—lack of precedent left them with too much control.

"So you know about his tea—"

"It's an open secret." Which was just as disturbing as Malfoy's overall ambivalence about it. But then she remembered what he had said in Harry's office and forced her _many_ opinions down. "I'm certain a lot of secrets have come out, just not the ones he wants." A ghost of a smirk played at his lips. Then he looked at his watch. Again. Malfoy frowned.

Hermione couldn't tamp down her rampant curiosity. "What do you know about the movement?"

"It's existence." He looked at her hard with a strange combination of accusation and resignation. "Does that seem to be something I'd involve myself in?"

Malfoy seemed more likely to ignore something like an entire underground Ministry restoration movement because it didn't suit his needs. "Not likely. If I remember correctly, you want to shut down the Death Eater organisation so you can check it off your to-do list and get on with your life."

"Precisely." He cut his gaze away and remained silent until he finished his tea. "You have _opinions_."

"Of course I do."

"But I don't see _you_ leading a rebellion."

Fair point, but Percy seemed twitchy about her involvement, and she was reluctant to push him. He didn't want her involved— _yet_. Though, he hadn't said anything about the future. Percy chose each of his words carefully, crafted what he wanted someone to know and omitted anything even mildly extraneous, which is why she paid close attention to even minor updates on his progress.

She tasted her tea. "I certainly know more about it than just its existence."

"Is that so." Not a question—a statement. Malfoy tapped his finger on the granite. "One could argue that restoring the power to the Minister won't change everything."

"The same argument could be made that it depends on _who_ sits in the Minister's seat after the next election. The best leaders are great teachers. They can bring about change through compromise, have an eye towards the future, and build those up around them because of it. They're humble and genuine. Firm but never to a fault. They follow an ethic of responsibility to their people by creating the best possible future. I can think of a few people like that I would willingly follow."

"Oh?" It didn't sound like interest yet it wasn't apathy. Malfoy put everything he'd brought with him aside in a move that made it clear Hermione now had his attention. And he had hers. "Who?"

"I thought you would talk more about my idealism or at least argue that no one person exists that fits that role in its totality. In fact, I can think of at least three more fitting responses to my statement than your question."

"I suppose you're right." Malfoy shrugged in consideration. "I do have more opinions on that matter concerning your odd blend of idealism and realism, not to mention the fact that you should keep them separate. Unfortunately, though, I don't have time to argue with you today, Granger. It'll have to be Monday."

"Did you just schedule an argument?"

He glanced at his watch again. "It appears I did."

Fifteen minutes after seven, less time until his Inquiry, yet he still didn't move.

Malfoy _did_ , however, glance at the doorway surreptitiously in a move she calculated much like most things concerning him. Not that she understood the meaning, but she knew just enough to understand that it meant _something_. Malfoy was the sort that did nothing without purpose or cause. He calculated everything and everyone, but his variables were still unknown so Hermione could never tell if she was holding the question, the solution, or meaningless parts of a complex equation.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing."

An obvious lie, but Hermione was beginning to learn when to press harder and when to release.

At least with him.

With nothing else to do or say, as Malfoy would leave when he was ready, Hermione charmed the dishes to wash, and took her tea and breakfast to the stool next to him. A first, as she usually stood across the island and silently read and answered his crossword upside down until he realised what she was doing and scowled.

Malfoy's folded Prophet was closest to her and an article caught her attention with just one glance.

"They're building an Aquatic Sanctuary for rare magical creatures in Berlin and giving the public the opportunity to observe and learn about them." It looked like it would be offering protection for those whose homes were being destroyed by humans.

"I saw." Malfoy pushed the paper in her direction, granting her permission to take a look, which she did, reading the article thoroughly until his next statement stopped her. "I despise aquariums. Animals belong in the wild."

"But they're providing a safe haven."

"In a tank."

"Better than danger. Fish like the tank. It's all they know."

"No, they live in a tank because humans don't give a fuck about anything. You call it a sanctuary, but the way I see it, it's just a place where the same people who destroyed their habitats can observe them for a special rate of one Galleon and five Sickles on weekdays. It's disgusting." When he put it like that, the idea soured. "There's nothing glamorous about living in a cage."

He was speaking from personal experience. The more she learned about the archaic pureblood culture he was born into and expected to uphold the ideals of, the more Hermione found herself quietly agreeing with him.

His tank was pristine, but there was only room for one. It was too cluttered with duties, so clouded that it made it hard for him to see things the same way Hermione—or anyone else—could from the outside.

But in thinking about his tank, she was forced to think about her own that she removed herself from years ago. It called to mind all the expectations that had driven her into the ground, and her own skewed perceptions hadn't changed until the excess was removed. Her clutter was different than his, of course, filled with expectations of greatness and stuffed with the work thrust on her simply because of her status as a hero, reputation as the brightest, and potential to lead.

"I suppose you're right," Hermione said finally, turning the paper over so neither could see the article. "But you're also wrong."

Malfoy's eyes held hers like a magnet. "Oh?"

"Just because you're born in a tank doesn't mean you're condemned to one forever. If you want to be free, free yourself."

"That's easier said than done when—" He stopped himself, but she finished it in her head, pieced together from the odds and ends of conversation she'd had with others. _When the tank is all you know._

"Oh."

She could only manage the one word, but Malfoy's discomfort morphed into something physical that stirred something inside of her. Not because it was a new topic—Hermione had been on the receiving end of so much information about Draco Malfoy over the last few months that she hadn't taken a moment to process all of it. She treated it like speculation. But with the more recent conversations on her mind, his unfinished statement and unspoken words felt like an answer. A confirmation.

It felt _real._ Human. _Raw_.

The same way she felt when she covered him with that blanket.

Did he sleep there last night?

Or the night before?

_Would he tonight?_

Those questions were on the tip of Hermione's tongue, and she spent so much energy choking them back that something else slipped out. "You're going to be late. Whatever it is you're waiting for isn't here."

"As I've stated before, I'm not waiting for any _thing_."

And his particular enunciation made it click. "Your mother doesn't come down for at least another thirty minutes."

"I'm not waiting for her."

Okay so now she was confused, who else— _oh!_

_Scorpius looks for you every morning without fail._

When he realised that she had sussed him out, that he was now exposed, Malfoy's face hardened like stone. He pointedly looked away, stood, and left, taking everything he'd come with: the Prophet, the crossword book, and his pen.

But also something he'd been given along the way.

The glass container.

In Malfoy's haste to run from the truth he had all but admitted—albeit accidentally—he missed something key, something quiet and nearly undetectable. Hermione didn't notice it either until Malfoy stepped under the archway of the door.

_Scorpius._

Raised on the tips of his toes, bracing himself, he peeked around the corner, staring after his father's retreating form with a longing that was as wide and deep as the ocean, one Hermione hoped to never know. Scorpius opened his mouth to call after him, but stopped, upset and unable to find the words or the courage he needed in order to _speak_. His shoulder slumped in renewed sorrow.

There were three types of connections.

Ones that were found, ones that were lost, and ones that were missed by minutes…

Seconds…

Moments…

When Scorpius waved to the empty space where his father had just been, Hermione's heart clenched so tight it _hurt_. But for which end of the missed connection it ached for most… for the first time, she wasn't sure.

* * *

Hermione wondered if Narcissa stood in front of a mirror each night and practiced schooling her facial expressions into a variety of emotions in order to decide just the right one to use in every instance.

Like now.

They hadn't been outside long, but Narcissa had already examined every tree, plant, herb, fruit bush, and vegetable in her greenhouse and garden with a look so perfectly distasteful that it was nothing short of staged. It was as though Narcissa had counted everything she didn't like and the number was offensive. Meanwhile, Hermione gave her the tour in perfect silence, oftentimes having to look away in order not to get caught rolling her eyes.

Which was not only immature, it was backsliding.

But Hermione had to admit that Narcissa had come dressed to work, wearing probably the most casual attire she had ever seen her in: hair styled perfectly under a wide brim hat with a soft pink mesh scarf wrapped around her head and neck to protect her from the sun. She wore a long-sleeved floral shirt, comfortable trousers (because proper women don't own _jeans,_ Miss Granger), and a surprising pair of wellies that were so clean they were likely as new as the shiny pink gloves on her hands and the pressed apron tied around her waist.

Meaning she'd taken the time to prepare, even with only one day's notice.

Still, Narcissa looked like she had stepped out of another era. It wasn't the first time Hermione had made the comparison. Nor would it be the last.

They had rounded their way back to the start of the tour when Narcissa primly laced her fingers together and cast a long, dramatic look around, tilting her sunglasses. "I have _several_ questions, Miss Granger."

 _Of course she did_ , Hermione thought with a long-suffering sigh. "Go on."

"Who taught you how to garden?"

"A friend of mine named Neville helped me start from tomatoes and herbs. He showed me the basics about plant care." Neville worked primarily with magical foliage, but knew enough about mundane vegetation to help Hermione begin her garden. "He's an absolute _genius_ with magical plants."

Narcissa looked around with a tight frown. "You use the word genius _far_ too generously."

Hermione almost choked on the litany of words ready to spill from her lips in defence of her friend, but she swallowed them down and took the high road—which was _hard_. "I believe I've used the word correctly. Your criticism is harsh and unnecessary, not to mention, unfounded as you don't know—"

"First—" Narcissa raised a gloved finger. "Without criticism, there is no improvement. Someone as intelligent as yourself should know this and not take offence to my observations."

"You're right, but there's a way to criticise constructively without insulting a friend of mine."

And someone who had been essential in helping her find normality through her outlet in gardening, planted the seeds in the form of words that led to Hermione looking into Healing as a career alternative.

_To make the difference you want to make, you don't have to be the best at everything, you just have to care._

Narcissa lips thinned in consideration. "I meant no offence as I was speaking as someone with extensive experience with mundane horticulture. When I married Lucius, I redesigned the gardens at Malfoy Manor to make them more functional, as his family had little interest in upkeep." Narcissa touched the stem of her blackberry bush, full of berries not yet ready to be picked. "Tending a mundane garden is different. I only asked who taught you to garden after observing your garden's current state."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because your mundane plants are treated like the magical plants in your greenhouse, and that simply will not do."

Hermione didn't understand the difference or why it mattered. Her expression obviously spoke to that because Narcissa shook her head. "There are three basic elements involved in caring for plants: light, water, and heat. Like people, each plant is different, not only in appearance but in what quantity of each basic element they require to survive, and what additional care they need to thrive. Because surviving and thriving, while used interchangeably far too often, are very much at opposite ends of the spectrum."

"What does that have to do with magical versus mundane gardening methods?"

"Caring for mundane plants like one would magical plants can keep them alive, but they will not _thrive_. Magical plants do not always require certain maintenance that mundane plants need in excess. Your magical plants are thriving in the greenhouse—particularly your moly, arka, and bubotubers—but your mundane plants are just surviving, especially your flowers both inside and outside the greenhouse. They appear healthy enough, but they won't flourish if they don't have a full range of the necessary minerals and proper care, just as people won't."

As someone with a thirst for knowledge, Hermione's interest was piqued. She fell into step beside Narcissa, who took her for a second turnabout in the garden.

But that time with a new perspective.

Narcissa was more proficient in horticulture than she'd originally let on. Pretty soon, Hermione found herself jotting down notes for future reference.

For the first time, on a level deeper than clinical, it dawned on her that Narcissa would no longer remember her own advice at some point. Her skills. Her family. _Her name._ Over time, her memories would begin to come and go like the tide, and then they would be just _gone_. Her body would exist even as the soul that lived in it slowly dwindled away…

Hermione looked away momentarily as a small swell of emotions brushed against her heart. She batted the feelings away because it wasn't a good thought to have.

Not so impartial.

"When you landscaped in preparation to plant, it's obvious that you followed directions from books, as yours is exemplary. However, books leave out a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that is hard to describe, but it differentiates a nice garden from an excellent one. Yours is… functional, at best, if a bit dull and unimaginative, but that…" Narcissa trailed off, showing a level of tact she hardly ever used around Hermione.

After all, tact was usually reserved for those she needed to be tactful around. Hermione had never met her requirement before, and judging from the almost embarrassed expression, perhaps she did now, but it didn't matter. Hermione already knew what Narcissa was going to say.

Dull? Unimaginative?

_But that's who you are._

After an awkward yet almost apologetic silence, Narcissa stood in front of her hydrangea bush by the fence that separated her garden from the pasture. Again, she frowned when she spotted yellow leaves. "Do you prune with magic?"

"No."

"Good, you shouldn't." She paused and properly lowered herself to her knees with a certain grace that could not be taught. She touched the base of the plant, removing blooms and leaf debris. "Your hydrangeas are suffering from moisture stress, either too wet or too dry. It rained two nights ago, yet this is already parched. Perhaps the debris here was blocking the water from getting to the roots, which account for the yellowing leaves."

"I thought that a little debris would make a good compost."

"Perhaps for other plants, but not hydrangeas. What is good for one is not good for all. You should also consider clipping these old stems to allow the plant to breathe."

"I can do that… or you can."

Narcissa lifted her head, one blonde brow arching above the rim of her glasses, but said nothing, only began her task after extracting her hand shears from her apron—spelled to cut through anything. After finishing, she stood and examined her work.

"I suppose I can work with _this_."

Instead of paying attention to her words, Hermione found the tiny flower of compliment hidden in the vast garden of criticism. Now, she was ready to learn. "Any other points you would like to make?"

"Your pruning is horrible, especially on the fruit trees in the greenhouse. Your cuts are wrong, you either snip too much or not enough, and on several occasions, you have clipped them too soon. Knowing when to prune is critical for young trees, as they need to be trained in order to develop a strong structure."

 _Trained_.

There was that word again, niggling at her, calling forth images of little Scorpius standing at attention with a serious expression on his face. The boy who never smiled, only watched and held everything inside.

Like his father.

Hermione snapped back to focus only to find Narcissa casting a look at her house. Her security guards stood just outside the door, probably bored. There really had been no reason for their presence today as Hermione's wards practically guaranteed her safety.

But they had their orders.

"Miss Granger, I find myself curious about something." That tone made Hermione inwardly cringe.

"Oh?"

 _Merlin_.

Conversation starters like that never ended without tense discussions. Recent common ground aside, tensing was only a natural reaction. Progress wasn't linear, nor was it one-dimensional. It was full of twists and turns, ups and downs, backtracks and loops that would eventually lead to where they were supposed to end up. Or maybe it wouldn't. Perhaps they would get to at a point where they were both comfortable with the balance.

Or maybe discussions about their differences _would be_ their normal.

"You have a rather large home for someone who is unmarried and lives alone." Narcissa cast a sidelong glance back at Hermione. "While lovely, I cannot decide if you intend to rectify that. However, given your liberal views on marriage and the fact that you live in virtual solitude, I'd have to conclude not."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't owe you a response as it's none of your business, but my opinions on marriage aren't indicative of whether or not I intend to marry at all. That's quite short-sighted of you, but—" Hermione bit her own tongue, but the sharp look she received in response made it clear that Narcissa knew her next words.

_But that's who you are._

Narcissa frowned. "It is expected for a woman to give up her home when she marries. You have settled here, at least it appears so from the parts of your home I _have_ seen. It does not seem likely that you would be able to give this up. Additionally, it would be quite hard to transfer a vegetable garden of this magnitude."

"Or my future husband can live _here_."

"It is simply _not_ proper, Miss Granger." Narcissa's laugh mocked her sentiment. "How can he be head of a home that is not his?"

"Because we're partners in life and what's mine is his. There is no room for pride or ego in love and respect."

"You say this now because you don't know—"

"I'll _always_ say this because it's what I _believe_." Hermione took a deep breath. "Just like you have your beliefs, I have mine. I don't necessarily agree with yours, but I don't dismiss what you say simply because I find it antiquated and regressive. You shouldn't dismiss me either. Perhaps as we continue working towards compromise, you should try to understand me, just as I'm trying to understand _you_." Hermione couldn't see her eyes, but felt them weighing heavily on her. "Why are you concerned about whether I'll marry?"

"As I often tell Draco, it's not good to be alone."

"I have friends and family. I have my work and I love that I work on an individual scale. I have my home, this vegetable patch, and a great appreciation for myself. I don't seek outside validation. I'm content."

"But are you happy?"

The question struck her like a thunderbolt, but Hermione didn't react. Didn't answer. "I—"

"I often find myself wondering how you manage to keep everything together." Narcissa removed her sunglasses, tucking them in her apron. "You cook for me, prepare my potions weekly, and monitor my condition while keeping detailed records on the progression of my disease—one that you don't even specialise in— _and_ researching the nature of it. You frequently consult with other Healers to make sure that you are providing the best care. Additionally, you have this garden with chickens and a home much too large for one person. You still work at St Mungo's doing floater work, attend dinners with your parents, host gatherings with your friends, and you make yourself available whenever anyone needs anything… according to Pansy. How much time do you actually make for yourself, Miss Granger?"

The question, while soft, had a hint of genuine concern that matched the look in her eyes.

"I make time." _Some_. "I just like keeping busy."

Narcissa started walking and Hermione fell into step beside her until they stopped between the radishes and carrots. "When Lucius died, I was inconsolable. Even after we moved to France, I managed to distract myself with helping Draco secure a wife and a flurry of activities to avoid thinking about him. I wonder if you're doing the same, distracting yourself from your own… restlessness."

There were several rebuttals on the tip of her tongue, but they all were flawed. Parts of her were still stunned by Narcissa's awareness.

"Just think about it." The older witch's tone bordered on motherly.

"Pushing marriage isn't a remedy to loneliness." The thought was so strange that Hermione snorted. Then she closed her mouth, flushing first in embarrassment then wincing at the fact that she'd admitted having a problem. Out loud. To her patient. In the middle of her garden.

Maybe Narcissa hadn't noticed.

One glance told Hermione that she absolutely _had_.

"Perhaps you're right and it is not the answer. But maybe finding someone who understands you _is_."

Hermione processed her words as she cleared her throat and looked away, awkwardly pulling at the end of her braid. "I…" After trailing off, Hermione brushed away a leaf that had gotten stuck in Narcissa's hat. "We should get started working on the garden. Any other critiques?"

Even her patient's critical appraisals felt better than the current hollowness inside her ribs.

Narcissa led the way down a row of vegetables almost ready for harvest, then turned back to Hermione, who was clinically monitoring her gait. "Overall, your garden is lovely, Miss Granger. Healthy—despite errors due to inexperience." Narcissa readjusted her scarf. "My criticism seems harsh to you, as it appears you have worked quite hard to cultivate this land, but I cannot help but examine with a sharp eye geared towards improvement."

Which was fair.

Her words were also laden with double meaning.

"That being said, your garden needs proper and _correct_ attention, that is, if you are willing to learn from someone as old-fashioned as _me_."

She was.

And with a short nod, it began.

* * *

Time passed as they worked alongside one another. Narcissa taught her tricks she'd learned while cultivating Malfoy Manor's gardens. How to cut. Where to cut. When to cut. She showed Hermione the results of her errors in split branches and prematurely dying leaves. They pulled weeds and Narcissa showed her the difference between healthy soil and its dusty, barely living counterpart.

It was a humbling experience that could have gone a lot differently had Narcissa's tone been harsher, had Hermione been stubborn and unwilling to listen. But it had gone well. Today certainly wouldn't be the last time they disagreed, but perhaps the length of time between each one would grow.

While Narcissa was good with all her other fruit-bearing vegetation, she seemed to pay special attention to the flowers. Cared for them. Genuinely liked her variety. She had more specific instructions and ideas on which she should plant for added pollination. _And_ she knew just the place where they could go, a place that would require Hermione to extend her fence at least a metre out.

Not feasible at the moment, but it was something to consider.

Before she knew, the recommended hour had passed, but Narcissa wanted to finish weeding the row of broad and runner beans before she stopped for the day. Hermione noted the colour in her cheeks, the healthy glow of satisfaction. Despite the sweat on her brow, she looked far more relaxed than she'd seen her after all their walks combined.

 _Happier_.

Everything shifted in the blink of an eye. Narcissa stood to her feet, but stopped short as she looked past Hermione and tilted her head strangely. "Miss Granger, you have said in the past that if I believe I am having an incident to inform you immediately."

Hermione dropped her notebook and rushed to her side, reaching into her pockets and finding a cloth to wipe the sweat from her brow. Narcissa looked visibly shaken, but more than that, she seemed confused. Visual hallucinations were a common symptom of her disease and there were so many ways to handle one, but Hermione settled on a tactic she knew would work.

Hermione kept her voice calm, speaking in soothing tones. "Narcissa. Tell me what you see."

"I _always_ see Lucius."

A chill shot up her spine as Sachs' words played in her mind. Her comforting presence.

Her voice seemed far away as she stared on, taking an unconscious step towards the hallucination. "But it is not… _Lucius_ has been here all along. All day."

Now the question of what else she kept to herself lingered. Suddenly, meeting with Malfoy was of utmost importance. She couldn't delay. But right then, Hermione walked alongside Narcissa as she slowly approached her mirage. In front of the chicken coop where the three were still running around, Hermione made a request only her patient could hear. "Tell me about the person you see."

Narcissa didn't hesitate. "A man with black hair and skin that's covered in bruises. He's on the other side of the stream, both watching us and trying to get inside. But he cannot. He does not stop _trying_. It looks painful. His hand looks… _wrong_."

That… was an oddly specific hallucination.

"What is he wearing?" Hermione took out her wand and performed several quick diagnostic charms that didn't reveal anything spectacular. It worried her _more_.

"His clothes are tattered and dirty. His hair is wild with leaves and branches stuck in it. He looks _so_ real. Like Lucius. It's remarkable."

Quietly disturbed by the visual she was painting, Hermione asked. "Can you look at me, Narcissa? I'd like to see your eyes." When she turned her head, she discovered that they weren't glazed over like they had been that morning in the garden. They were clear. Focused. _Scared_. "Let's get you out of the sun and I'll make you a cup of tea. I'll—" Hermione turned her head. "Uhh…"

Hermione had very limited experience with hallucinations of any kind, but she did know—from extensive research and training—that there were different levels and types to consider.

Something else she knew?

It wasn't a hallucination if _she_ could see it as well.

Dread invaded Hermione's body, sinking into her skin as her stomach dropped. Adrenaline propelled her into action, not running from but rather _towards_ the man. Narcissa was somewhere in the background, yelling for her to stop.

Not that she'd ever listened before—the word wasn't in her vocabulary.

As she got closer, the man came into clearer focus. Narcissa had been accurate in her description, right down to his filth. He kept walking into her wards like he had no idea that he would fall into the stream if he succeeded. Almost as if he knew no other way, stuck in a trance. Idea in mind, Hermione ran towards the walkway that served as a bridge, exiting her wards, fully prepared for a fight…

That never came.

She crept towards the almost skeletal stranger, one step after the other, wand pointed, and eyes and ears open for any surprises. It was unsettling the way he repeatedly collided with her invisible wards that shimmered from the unauthorised contact. His eyes were focused and unseeing. He was barefoot, all his visible skin covered in festering cuts and bruises and welts that made her wonder if he'd walked straight there from wherever he'd come from.

How had he gotten through her diversion wards?

"Who are you?"

The stranger's head slowly turned, movement stiff and unnatural, allowing her to see his dark, empty eyes for the first time. When he opened his mouth, blood and saliva ran from the corners of his lips, staining his filthy chin and torn clothes. Hermione could barely make out his tongue, but she could see that it was the source of the bleeding. Bitten clean off.

His jaw worked hard, lips moving as if he were trying to speak. Her fist tensed around her wand.

" _Hermione Granger."_

The voice he spoke in was gargled from the blood spilling out and hoarse from overuse.

" _We see you."_

Or screaming.

" _We see you all."_

And he charged at her—as best as he could, given his slow gait, due to his obviously broken ankle. But he was wandless. Not a threat. There was no fear, only logic. Hermione aimed for his chest, just a Body Bind Curse to subdue. But she never had the opportunity to fire.

Instead, a Stunner came from behind her, whizzing a safe distance away from her head and landing on its target with enough force to knock the man right off his feet. Feet over head, the stranger landed in a heap of twisted limbs in the patchy grass a few metres away. Hermione whipped around, ready to fight, only to find one of Narcissa's ever-present security guards behind her. The other guard was across the creek with her patient, who looked on anxiously, wringing her gloved hands.

"What the _hell?_ " she yelled at him, rushing over to the unconscious man. Pressing two gloved fingers against his neck, she searched until she found his pulse. Weak yet steady. The guard didn't look a bit apologetic, which made anger flood her veins. Through gritted teeth, she sucked in a breath. "I had it under control. You don't stun an obviously injured person like that. It's _barbaric!_ "

"He charged at you." Impatience was written all over his gruff face. "Mrs Malfoy gave me an order to help you, so I did my job—"

"Your _assignment_ is to protect _Narcissa_ , who is quite safe within my wards. _I_ don't need your help. Go back to your _actual_ job."

The wizard looked leery, his wand still tight in his grip, ready to hex again if the man so much as moved. "I heard what he said to you, Miss Granger. You shouldn't—"

"While I appreciate the concern, he's not a threat. He's unconscious and _injured_. I'm a Healer. It's a part of my oath and duty to help those who need it, regardless of what they've done. So, _go_." She glared daggers at him until he went, eyes following him until he was back at Narcissa's side, delivering a message into her ear. One that she nodded at, but didn't look too pleased about receiving.

Distractions gone, Hermione sent a Patronus to Harry. The message was quick and to the point. And while she waited, she stabilised him and performed every diagnostic charm she could think of that wouldn't harm him. His magical readings were all over the place.

Ah, so he was a wizard. Good to know.

From there, she noted his haggard condition: the wounds on the soles of his feet, obviously infected sores and burns all over his visible skin. He was too thin and warm with fever. Wherever he had been kept, he had been there a long time, likely caged like an animal with no one to tend to his ailments. With clinical gentleness, Hermione gently turned his head towards her. More bruises. Discolouration around both of his hollow eyes that were open and red from strain.

Bitten tongue. Tense muscles. Bloodshot eyes.

All the classic signs of overuse of the Cruciatus Curse.

The stunning likely hadn't helped. She glared over her shoulder at the guard, who stood on the other side of Narcissa, still waiting. Her patient had her arms folded and was tapping her foot. She could have left, they were finished, after all, but she remained right there.

Hermione continued her assessment. More strained muscles, rope burns on his wrists that served as proof of his captivity. He had landed awkwardly on his left arm, so she moved to the other side to prepare to reset his shoulder…

Then she noticed it. The letter in his discoloured hand.

With a start, Hermione immediately used her wand to remove it. She didn't read it, more concerned with the man's black fingertips and the slow spread of darkness that was indicative of the infection that would soon enter his bloodstream. The sight brought forth unforgettable memories.

His hand looked just like Molly's when she'd been poisoned.

Harry arrived with a soft pop, looking as if he'd been fighting or running. His shoulders were tense, glasses crooked, cheeks coloured, and a light sheen of sweat painted his forehead. Ah, he must have been in the middle of a training session when he'd gotten her message and rushed out in a hurry. His immediate relief upon seeing her uninjured was written all over his face. Harry slipped his wand back into the holster over his shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

Before Hermione could respond, Malfoy appeared on the scene in all black, no jacket, leather wand harness on display. And though his face was all sharp lines and stoic indifference, he bore the same signs of physical activity: a slight flush, no sweat, but his hair was in mild disarray, as if he'd run his hands through it several times.

Probably in irritation.

"Granger."

He must have been there when Harry got her message, which meant they were still teaching together. No one was missing a limb. _Interesting_. Hermione was almost proud of them.

"Malfoy."

In the span of a single blink, Malfoy scanned her from head to toe before glancing over at the unconscious man. She was getting better at noticing, but it was still impossible to know what he was thinking; his stone-faced expression gave nothing away.

"Are you injured?"

The question came as a surprise, probably to them both. "No, but _he_ is." She gestured to the man lying in the grass, stepping aside as they approached for a closer look.

Colour bled from Harry's face as recognition dawned on him. "Oh fuck. It's Mathers."

The missing Auror.

Harry stepped to one side of the stunned wizard, Malfoy to the other, while Hermione stood at his feet. "I'll call in a team."

"C Team," Malfoy suggested without tearing his attention from the unconscious man. "They need practice canvassing. We'll need to complete a proper sweep of the area. Three kilometres out in all directions."

Harry agreed with a nod and—to Hermione's surprise—without argument. "We'll also need to contact his family."

"Later." Malfoy crouched next to Mathers' still form, his hands on his knees. "When he's stable."

"Right." Harry ran a heavy hand through his hair. Hermione knew he was troubled, even as he backed away. Harry took everything harder than he should, because he valued everyone, right down to Deloris. However, he was still the consummate professional, a true leader, and he knew what to do. Quickly, Harry put his feelings aside and pointed his wand in the air to call forth his silvery stag.

It was time to get to work.

One knee in the grass, Malfoy slid his wand back into its holster in a smooth motion. He hadn't been as affected as Harry—at least not visibly. His reaction had been far more subtle and thus harder to point out for dissection. The first clue of his inner workings came from the simple fact that Malfoy seemed unsurprised by the brutality.

Hermione noted nothing beyond indifference in his clinical indifference. "Do you know him?"

"Not like Potter."

Hermione knew what he meant.

Being an Auror—well, now the Head of the Auror's Office—was Harry's _career_ , something he knew he would be doing for a long time. He had always made it a mission to know every person who worked for him. Families, birthdays, hobbies. This assignment and collaboration with the Task Force was just that: an assignment. It was about the people who went from assignment to assignment with him. _They_ were important.

Malfoy, from what she could ascertain, was different. No surprise there. The people who worked under him were just that: _people_. He didn't try to get to know them, wasn't interested in gaining their respect. All business. It was a surprisingly linear way of thinking that Hermione knew didn't always work. His detachment—in addition to the fact that he was _Draco Malfoy_ —was likely why everyone deferred to Harry. And also why he didn't seem to care.

"I'll see that he's transported to St. Mungo's," Hermione said just to end the odd silence. "When he wakes, he'll likely need to be questioned."

Malfoy said nothing as he examined the man's injuries. "Looks like the work of the Carrows. They're particularly heavy-handed with the Cruciatus curse. They also think setting captives loose in the forest without a wand to hunt like prey is a perfectly acceptable form of entertainment." She had the wisdom to think before asking how he knew about such a barbaric act. "Did he say anything to you?"

Hermione gulped. "My name." That didn't bother him at all, so she told him the rest. " _We see you. We see you all._ "

She noticed the shift, the stiffness in his shoulders, as he lifted his eyes to hers. For a second, Hermione saw the worry in them before he tucked it away. "Anything else? Anything… more specific?"

"No."

Harry joined them, his jaw set in a tight line. "They'll be here momentarily. Will he be okay?" His eyes were hopeful despite his grim expression

Malfoy answered before she could. "He'll likely end up like Longbottom's parents. It'll be a waste to question him or even retrieve his memories."

"There have been significant strides in reversing the long-term effects of the curse." While possible, his response wasn't exactly true. She rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "They won't know how bad he is until he regains consciousness."

"How long will that take?"

"I have no idea." Hermione levitated the letter with her wand. "This was in his hand. It's poisoned, and while I didn't read it for obvious reasons, it looks the same as all the others. His hand looks like Molly's. It has to be the same poison." Malfoy didn't hide his confusion; his eyes cut back and forth between them as he tried to put the puzzle pieces together. Harry heaved a sigh and Hermione tried to fill in the gaps. "It's a slow-acting poison that is fatal if left untreated for—"

"I'm familiar with it."

That's right. Sachs.

Still, there was so much tension and finality in those four words that Hermione left it alone.

"Do you still have the antidote?" Harry asked.

"I have one vial that will have to do for now, but I can make more. I would have gotten it, but I didn't want to leave him alone." Lest anything else happen. Or he regained consciousness—or worse: _vanished_.

"Did you stun him?" Malfoy asked with a frown.

"No, your mother's security did when he tried to attack me before I could put him in a Body Bind. He's likely been cursed, Imperius if I had to guess, and sent here to deliver a message, so I can't hold his actions against him. He didn't come close at all to harming me."

All at once, understanding swept across Malfoy's features like a quickly-moving thunderstorm. "My mother's security team? _Why is she here_?" He whipped around to look for her. "Where—"

"Right over there."

The aggravated wizard spotted his mother on the other side of the stream with both guards. Harry excused himself as Task Force members began arriving with a series of pops, ranging from loud to soft.

"Your mother came here to work in my garden in lieu of walking, which she hates. She's remained safe behind my wards the entire time, if _that_ was your concern." At that, he gave her a hard glare. " _She's_ the one who noticed Mathers when we were finishing up."

" _This_ is where you live?" Malfoy rose to his feet, grey eyes now surveying his mother's surroundings. He seemed to take in everything from the chickens chasing each other, to the bits of her garden that were visible from their vantage point, to the white bricks that made up her home. "It's remote." Malfoy reached out, skimming the edges of her active wards with the same hand that bore his signet ring.

Close but not touching.

"Yes, and it's warded tight."

Malfoy trailed his fingers along the invisible barrier, still a hair's breadth away. "I can't see them."

"But you _can_ see your mother, right?"

"Yes."

"It's because you have the same access to my home as your mother does. If you didn't, you wouldn't be able to see anything."

Malfoy's only response was a single arched brow.

Hermione looked back at Harry, who was giving directions with authoritative patience to a Task Force member who seemed confused about where they were. Harry mentioned her house and every one of them looked around, seeing nothing. The truth of her words seemed to dawn on him all at once.

"But—"

"You're my patient's son, it made sense to let you in."

His voice was low, controlled. "Of course."

For reasons unknown, Hermione stepped right to the edge of her own wards. Next to him, but still out of reach. "I won't let any harm come to your mother, not while she's in my care. You know that, right?"

The silence that fell between them extended until the sound of the first set of team members leaving to canvass the area. Hermione turned, preparing to Apparate into her home to retrieve everything she would need, but hesitated.

" _I know."_ His voice was so low she barely heard him.

Hermione shook off the touch of unease she felt before Disapparating, landing just outside her brewing room. From there, she gathered what she needed, and made a Floo call to Theo to send someone to her home to transport a new patient. By the time she made it back outside, the Task Force had gone off to explore the area. Narcissa had transfigured something into a chair and was back in her sunglasses, watching what was occurring just outside her wards with a bored fascination. Her guards were standing at attention by her side.

"I have a meeting with my planning team for the end of season soirée I am hosting."

"I didn't expect you to stay," Hermione replied honestly.

Narcissa crossed her legs and laced her fingers together. She wasn't moving. "I thought I might be of some assistance. I was the first to see him, after all, and I saw him long before we finished gardening, but he was just standing there, watching. I assumed he was a hallucination."

"About your hallucinations—"

"I do not wish to speak about them right now, Miss Granger." She reached up to touch the ring dangling on the chain around her neck. "I have had a rather trying morning."

"That's understandable." Hermione let it go. For now. "We'll discuss this later."

The witch then lowered her glasses, giving her a cursory onceover as she changed the subject. "I see you remain uninjured. _Good_. I heard the presence of my security guard angered you. He was merely acting on my orders to protect you. I was…" She trailed off, adjusting her glasses as she turned her head back to where her son and Harry were—not yelling _or_ fighting—just _talking_ across the stream. The latter nodded and when one of the Task Force members arrived back on the scene, he went to speak to them.

Malfoy was left alone with the still-unconscious Mathers.

When he kneeled next to the man and pulled out his wand, Hermione excused herself with few words. After a small tug, she appeared across the stream at the still-unconscious man's side. With Malfoy. Immediately, she noticed the blood around his mouth and chin had been cleaned. His eyes had been shut, and there was a steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. He appeared to be sleeping.

He would wake soon and probably need to be subdued.

Then she realised something. "Did you do anything—"

"I'm not proficient in Healing, Granger." Malfoy rose from his stooped position, pocketing his wand. "Potter cleaned the blood."

"Okay." Hermione had almost no proof, but somehow, she _knew_ that he was lying.

Much like that morning, though, she gave no indication of disbelief. Nevertheless, there _was_ a curiosity building inside of her that would no longer be ignored. What he had done for Mathers wasn't much, except that it showed a hint of humanity hidden in a small act of kindness from a man who did everything possible to put forth an image that only perpetuated what people already thought about him.

Cynical. Apathetic. Meticulous. Distant. Demanding.

 _Accurate_.

Hermione recalled the photo with baby Scorpius from his office, the way Malfoy never shut out his son, the way he held onto the boy when he dreamed of his mother, and waited until the very last minute for him to come to the kitchen—okay perhaps… _not entirely accurate?_

Malfoy's dichotomy was something she hadn't been able to wrap her head around during any of their interactions, and he didn't make figuring him out easy. But really, it had not weighed heavily on her mind until that night in his office. The mystery he shrouded himself in _had_ to be intentional. Malfoy seemed to prefer being an enigma, and she had a few guesses as to why.

Not that he would ever confirm if she was right.

Still, Hermione thought about it more and more. The only solution to the equation of him was that perhaps his behaviour provided him _true_ privacy, as well as a measure of control. _Everyone_ —friend, foe, or stranger alike—thought that they knew Malfoy well enough to predict what he would say or do in any given situation.

Leaving him the opportunity to either prove them correct or not.

_It was always his choice._

And it was becoming more and more apparent to Hermione that he hadn't been afforded the opportunity to make many of those for himself. _Much like his son._

Her solution made sense, in a way, but it begged the question of who he _actually_ was.

 _That_ had been the constant niggling _thing_ at the back of her mind that reared to life whenever he did something unexpected.

_Or even something expected._

Hermione cleared her throat. "I called Theo, he's sending a—"

Right then, Susan appeared, followed by two Mediwitches Hermione knew only by face. Malfoy stepped away from Mathers and left her to it. In no time, she had explained the situation, detailed the diagnostic charms she'd performed, and handed them the potions. Hermione left them to set up transport.

Duty finished, she approached Harry and Malfoy, who appeared to be having a discussion. When she moved closer, they both looked as if they had been waiting for her to join.

Hermione furrowed her brows. "What?"

"Narcissa's memory of what she witnessed…"

"Ah, yes. She told me that she'd noticed him before she said something."

"I was wondering how long Mathers had been there. If, at any point, she had seen him from the corner of her eye. Is her memory safe to extract?" Harry shot an uncomfortable glance in Malfoy's direction. The man remained inscrutable as ever. She frowned at him, but turned to her best friend, who awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "I only ask because of her—"

" _Dementia_ , Potter," Malfoy snapped so suddenly Hermione jolted.

Harry glared at Malfoy, his jaw clenched. "I was _trying_ to be sensitive—"

"When you don't have to be. Not around me. I'm well aware of my mother's disease and Granger is her Healer. She doesn't need your _pity_." He spat the last word like it was poison.

"I'm not pitying her, I'm—"

Before it devolved into arguing, Hermione mediated. "You can extract the memory, Harry. It shouldn't be an issue."

And it wasn't. Except, when asked, Narcissa looked at them individually for several awkward seconds before she frowned. "Memory of _what_ exactly?"

If Hermione noticed the slight way her son's face fell, she wisely kept it to herself.

* * *

On the ride home from King's Cross after First Year, Hermione told endless stories about her time at Hogwarts. Naturally, she left out the bits about ill-advised late night detention in the Forbidden Forest, two-faced Quirrell, and _any_ part where she'd nearly died. If she'd told her parents everything, they'd never have let her return to her true home.

When Hermione explained Sorting, about the possibility of being given a choice, her parents had asked her to sort them.

Just for fun.

For her dad, her answer had been automatic. He was the quintessential Hufflepuff with _all_ of the characteristics: loyalty, fairness, impartiality, patience, and modesty.

Her mother had been harder, but ultimately, she'd decided on Gryffindor. Hermione felt she was most like her: daring, courageous, intelligent, and brave. The hypothetical Sorting error had gone unchecked for over twenty years before being realised at an impromptu dinner gathering.

Everything had been shaping up to be a normal evening, one where Hermione arrived with high hopes after spending the entire afternoon following the intruder incident reviewing Narcissa's files. Charles, who had diagnosed her after a battery of Muggle tests, had forwarded the results over by Owl, but they were hard to understand as Hermione wasn't a doctor. There were, however, a few Squib physicians that helped at St Mungo's she could lean on for possible help interpreting the data.

She'd spend the rest of her day making appointments.

Tired from the long day, Hermione had all but crashed in the chair she always sat in, and spent the better part of an hour half-reading while watching her dad paint with jazz music in the background.

And then something happened.

A shift.

A notable one that occurred when Hermione's father abruptly stepped away from his canvas and cleared his throat—the noise made her lift her head, her eyes falling on his latest work.

Daybreak. The moment the sun began to rise. The start of a new day. A beginning.

Hermione wasn't much of an artist, she didn't have the skill or drive, but she knew enough to understand how different this was from his abstract work, how far he'd come as an artist during the course of his classes. The details, from the direction of the sunrise to the star or two on the opposite end of the canvas, were thoughtful and evocative. It was beautiful.

Her father stepped back again, now looking with artistic eyes, and tipped his paint stained fingers against his chin.

"We're working on different styles in my art class. What do you think?"

Hermione hadn't expected his—well, _anything_ , if she were being honest, so his question made her heart jump. "Looks great, Dad." Her voice was so thick with emotion that it drew her father's attention.

"Are you okay?"

It had been _years_ since he'd asked for her opinion about his work. "Yes, yes I am."

"Good." His modest yet pleased smile inspired one of her own. He looked so proud, navy fingerprint smudges on his cheek and all. Her dad closed his eyes, letting the swell of music take him back in time. "Dizzy sounds good tonight, doesn't he?"

Hermione wasn't keen on the music, as it had been reduced to background noise for so long, but she _was_ a fan of her father. "He really does…"

His smile only grew.

That feeling of hope and optimism remained until her mother called them downstairs for dinner.

Then it died a fiery death when she spotted _Ron_ sitting at the table with her mum.

Her dad stopped short at the sight of him, clearly puzzled, but greeted him with kindness nonetheless. "Good to see you again, Ron."

"You too, Mr Granger."

As Hermione blinked in confusion at the sight before her, two things dawned on her:

First, her mother's invitation had been _a trap_.

Second, the woman who'd given birth to her was _actually_ a Slytherin.

Cunning. Resourceful. Ambitious. _Determined_.

"Ron stopped by to say hello." Her mother flashed a warm, dramatic smile as she gestured to their guest. "And since he was on time for dinner, I invited him to stay. I hope you don't mind." While rolling his eyes, her dad took his seat next to his wife and complimented the meal— roasted lamb, potatoes, and salad—as he did every day.

Hermione already knew the meat would be bland and overcooked at best.

She looked at her friend.

It wasn't that Ron was a terrible liar—he could lie with the best of them and look on casually as someone else crafted a tall tale. They had a lot of experience with that, actually. _Years_. She knew him as well as he knew himself. Sometimes even better. And because of that, Hermione knew _exactly_ what to look for: the slight flush and fidget, naturally, but it had been his imperceptible recoil at her mother's words that was damning. It was all the evidence needed to determine that his presence had been planned.

Expected.

_Anticipated._

Hermione felt her temper spark, but tried to stomp it out before it could catch. Instead, she smiled. It was a forced and twisted one, thin with barely concealed contempt.

"Oh, how…" She trailed off to exhale her next word. " _Nice_."

Because Ron knew her just as well, his eyes widened. He reached for his glass of water and took a long drink.

"It is, isn't it? Have a seat. Ron." At that, the redheaded man's head jerked up in response. "Be a love and get Hermione's chair."

Her dad sat back and watched the show while Ron cringed without looking. He likely couldn't help his reaction because—as her best friend—he already _knew_ the expression he'd see on Hermione's face, the dangerous sparks shooting from her eyes and a look of perfect disdain. Ron knew better than to follow through on her mother's request.

Especially if he wanted to see the _canaries_ again.

"Uh…" Blue eyes continued shifting as he scrambled to get himself out of the situation. Hermione watched him with the same fascination Al would watch a worm wriggle in the dirt after a storm before she took mercy on him.

"I'm perfectly capable of getting my own chair, thank you." She took the last empty seat.

Ron gave her a weak smile; she glared in return. He swallowed audibly.

"It's good manners, Hermione. You should never turn down a man's kindness."

She was ready to launch into a diatribe for the ages, but remembered where she was and the goal she wanted to accomplish. Hermione closed her mouth, took a breath, and counted to ten—then twenty—before she opened her eyes again and plastered on a smile. "What's for dinner?"

"I made roasted lamb, just how you like it."

Today's meal was more of an effort than she'd made in _years_.

"Doesn't Ron look handsome?" Her mum wiggled her eyebrow.

Honestly, there was no amount of counting that could stop her from saying something before the end of the night.

Hermione's dad sighed with uncharacteristic impatience. "Can we eat now?"

"Yes dear, we can."

Dinner commenced.

At least for the three of them.

As for Hermione, well…

There were a million things she wanted to say, and not all of them were nice or in line with her ideal temperament. In her attempt to stifle herself, she only made matters worse. Now everything was tangled up in knots that were impossible to unravel without disrupting the progress she'd made.

Conversation with her dad aside, Hermione had assumed that the irregular invitation had _really_ meant something from her mother. A sign of change or a possible shift in the dynamic she'd worked tirelessly to fix. It had given her hope that perhaps she was on the right path towards atonement for her past mistakes with them, but in the end, today's dinner was just a ploy for her mother to play matchmaker.

And that _burned_ bad enough for Hermione to stand up abruptly. "Mum, a word please?"

"After dinner, lo—"

" _Now._ Please." With that, she marched out of the room, leading the way to the sitting room at the front of the house, far away from other ears. When her mum appeared in the doorway less than a minute later, she didn't look amused.

Well, that made two of them.

"Hermione," her mum began with a patient sigh, stepping fully into the room and folding her arms across her chest. "I already know what you're thinking." Hermione couldn't help herself, she snorted in disbelief. The noise made impatience begin its slow creep across her mother's face. "You might not see it now, but I'm doing you a favour."

"I fail to see how _blatantly_ ignoring everything I've said is doing me a favour, so _please_ "—she waved her hand—"explain it to me."

Never one to back down, Hermione's mother accepted the gauntlet she'd all but thrown down.

"You're nearly thirty-two and single. It's not a problem, except for the fact that you have been for _years_. You're not even _trying_. If that's what you wanted, I'd be fine with it, but it's _not_." She unfolded one arm to point towards the kitchen, where Ron likely sat in awkward silence with her dad. "There's a man in there who's been through it all with you, through things your father and I can't comprehend. He _clearly_ loves you, but you won't even let him."

"Not that it's any of your business, but Ron and I have been down that road already. It didn't work. We're not compatible." Amongst other things she had no energy to explain in detail.

"Who's to say it can't _now_?"

Talking to her mother was like trying to teach Arithmancy to a three-year-old who couldn't even _read_. "You're wasting your time, not to mention his _and mine_. Have you been listening to anything I've—"

"What do you want, Hermione? Do you even know?" Her mum ran a hand over her fluffy hair in a move she often did when she was nearing her peak of frustration. It was one of many of their similarities. "You've been stuck in the same place for years. Ever since you got sick, you've been at a standstill, busying yourself with your patients and your _garden—and excuses_."

Hermione flinched. "Thank you for being so supportive, Mother."

Her mother winced at her own misstep. "I'm not saying that I don't support you. I'm saying that I'm concerned for you."

"Because I'm thirty-one and single?" Hermione scoffed with disbelief, rolling her eyes. "I don't need a partner to be fulfilled, Mum. I'm happy as I am."

"Are you?" She took a concerned step forward. "Because if you were _truly_ happy, I don't think I'd be so worried. You're drifting and have been so long that you're lost. I just don't understand why you're dead set against a man who _wants_ to make you happy."

"Because he can't, Mum! _He can't_!"

"Ron wants to give it another chance. How can he when you've closed yourself up and won't even entertain the possibility that it _could_ work?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and took a single, calming breath. "I'm _tired_ of arguing about something I _don't_ want."

If her mum heard the shift in her tone, she ignored it. "Which leads me back to my previous question: what _do_ you want? Do you even know? You're obviously waiting for something, but you aren't actively looking for it. You've given up, love, and as your mother, that worries me. And… _perhaps_ I shouldn't have asked Ron over for dinner—"

" _Perhaps_ ," Hermione shot back, hating the shrill in her voice. "I've already told him I'm not interested, and here you are making him think he can persuade me when he _can't_."

Her mother sighed. "I just don't want you to be alone. You'll wake up in ten years and regret the fact that you were too stubborn to settle down with someone who _wants_ you. It's a harsh lesson, but you can't get everything you want. Sometimes you have to find _someone_ and stick with it."

That made her recoil. Not from her words, but from the implication.

It didn't matter so much that it was _Ron_ , her mother just wanted her with _someone—anyone._

That was just… _selfish_. Both to her and Ron. She might not love him the way he wanted her to, but he was one of her oldest friends. He deserved more than being her _someone_.

"You'll understand one day."

Hermione shook her head. She was willing to compromise about so many things, but not this.

Not now.

Not anymore.

"As my _mother_ , you're supposed to encourage me to strive for something more than a warm body. You're supposed to tell me to find someone who understands and accepts me completely, flaws and all. Today. As I am. _Where_ I am and where I'm going. Someone I can do the same with. You're supposed to tell me that I'm worth it and I deserve better than settling for something I know in my _bones_ isn't right for me. You're supposed to tell me to _wait_."

Her mother took several steps towards her, stopping only an arm's length away. As usual. Though she tried and sometimes succeeded, she wasn't naturally a warm and comforting type of parent, far too pragmatic and set in her ways.

"Your dad wasn't my type and I fell in love with him anyway. It's not settling to be with someone who doesn't match your fantasy."

"But it _is_ when you don't love them, when you know they don't really love you either."

"Of course, he does."

Hermione heaved a sigh. "Ron loves the idea of me, but not _me_."

"That's not fair, Hermione, and you know it."

"No, _listen_." She held up her hand. "I nag, can be self-righteous and bossy, and while I'm finally at a point where I can accept that I'm not _always_ right, it _still_ irritates the hell out of me when I'm not. I'm arrogant and analytical. I'm _challenging_. I've got my own Code of Ethics where I frown on breaking one set of rules but not another. It doesn't make sense but sometimes, _I_ just _don't_. I'm slow to experiment without evidence of success—"

"You're more than all the negatives, love."

"I know that, but I also know these are the pieces of me that Ron doesn't like, complains about, and wants to change. And while I'm capable of self-correcting, most days I don't _want_ to because without those imperfections, without those bits of me that he finds aggravating, I'm not being true to myself. If I go back to him, we'll fight, and to keep a long-term peace, I'll have to play a role. I can't stifle myself like that. I _won't_. I'd rather be alone than feel like I've got to be someone else."

"You think I don't compromise with your father? There—"

"The difference is that you two _love each other_." Hermione couldn't stop the swell of emotions. "Ron loves the version he imagines me to be without those pesky flaws he hates so much, but it doesn't work because I'm not her. I'm not who he thinks I am or who I once was anymore. I'm _me_."

Her mother sighed for what felt like the millionth time. "I just want what's best for you."

"You don't even know what that _is_." Hermione looked away. "Dinner's getting cold and we shouldn't keep everyone waiting."

After a gesture to lead the way and a short staring session that ended without resolution or any further disagreement, she followed her mother out. The table was as quiet as ever; her dad was nearly halfway finished. Ron had waited to take even a single bite. When her mother sat down and began eating, he glanced over at Hermione, giving her a series of looks—his way of showing concern.

She nodded in return and started on her lamb. "Dinner looks lovely."

"Thank you." Her mother's response was crisp and dry, nothing like the exuberance she'd shown before.

Hermione felt bad for being the cause of the mood shift, but she was more upset about the ground she would likely have to make up with her mum after that conversation. Dinner ended up being a quiet affair, layered with tension so heavy it weighed down every interaction.

No one could sit still. Fingers drummed on the tabletop. Shoes tapped on the tile floors. Forks scraped against the plates.

Hermione used the silence to figure out which main ingredient her mother had purposefully altered (she'd substituted fresh mint for dried in the Mediterranean mint sauce, which made the texture odd) while noting that the lamb was _too_ well done.

Ron chattered on about inane topics to stave off the silence, and her dad went from responding to stealing glances at her mother, who ate with a perfectly blank expression. She didn't say much, but responded to Ron's idle chatter with fond looks, even when the topic was something wizarding that she had no understanding about. All attempts at drawing Hermione into the conversation ended with her mother returning to silence, so after a few times, she reduced herself to little intones to agree or disagree all while knowing one thing:

Her mother's mood would last through the rest of the meal.

And it did.

Even through dessert, which was orange honey cake with pistachios. She would have asked for the recipe, but her mother abruptly left to answer a phantom phone call after serving both her dad and Ron. With a shrug, Hermione plated a piece for herself while her dad watched.

Ron wasn't so tactful, but he at least waited to talk about dinner until they had left her parents' and were sitting in the grass by the stream outside her house. "What happened with your mum? Cause she completely changed after you two got back from talking."

"We talked about her meddling in things she doesn't understand." Hermione saw no point in lying. " _You,_ to be exact."

"Me?"

"If she invites you to dinner again—and I _know_ she invited you this time." He winced. "Just… do us both a favour and decline." She listened to the sound of slow moving water and the rumble of thunder coming from the south. "I don't want her to keep giving you the impression that you can change my mind when I know you can't."

"Change your mind?"

"You're not stupid, Ron." She gave him a knowing look in the dying light of day. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. There's only _one_ reason why you would accept a dinner invitation from my mother without telling me. And you've had _plenty_ of chances."

In fact, just yesterday evening he'd come by, only to find Hermione armed with potions and teas as gifts, on her way to Daphne and Dean's for a visit ahead of the birth of their baby. Ron had gone with her and lingered until she finished touring the nursery and chatting, accompanying her back home where they watched a film on the telly.

Plenty of time to mention dinner with her parents.

Ron sighed; his silly ploy at complete innocence was up. "I'm trying, Hermione." He threw a rock in the direction of the stream and frowned when he missed. "Just like I told you I would. Tonight… didn't go so well."

"Understatement."

His next question only hinted at the true scope of his frustration with her reluctance and refusal. "What do you want me to do, Hermione? I'm—"

"I want you to stop and listen to _me_ , rather than what you want." She poked him in the arm. "I didn't ask you to try. Quite the opposite, actually. I asked you to leave us in the past."

He fixed her with a hard stare, but she didn't flinch. Didn't blink until he did. Ron rolled his eyes at her stubbornness, his hair gently blowing in the evening breeze. "Why are you so against me?" Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but he interrupted her, voice soft as his gaze returned to her. "We loved each other at one point."

Ron wasn't wrong.

They _had_ loved each other through war and the false peace perpetuated by the Ministry, through mourning, recovery, and healing. Through the thousands of fights and pains between. Life had been chaotic when they had first fallen for one another. And still, even now, Hermione thought of their time together in the way of first loves—when everything was a first and she had no understanding of the word and its true meaning, when she didn't even know or love herself.

For the first couple of years, Hermione thought that love wouldn't be any harder than the war they'd just fought and the pain from the losses they'd incurred. She thought that love was the answer to all her questions. At that time, Hermione thought love was about being needed and selflessly putting his happiness before her own, suffering in the name of the word just for the sake of some version of life she wasn't even sure she wanted.

It was beautiful, in a poetic way, but unrealistic.

Hermione grew older, as all people must. She changed; it was inevitable with the life she was living after the war. It wasn't exactly healthy or wise, but at that time, she was focused on the integral role she played in the Ministry as their champion. Little did she realise, she was actually their pet, running on their hamster wheel, wearing herself thin yet going nowhere.

And perhaps initially she hadn't sprouted in the right direction, but at least she was _growing_.

But her love for Ron?

That didn't grow. It stayed exactly the same. It got comfortable. Stagnant. As did he. More than that, what made things worse was that he wasn't interested. He felt that they were doing all right as they were, fights and clashes notwithstanding, as he battled for his top place in her priorities. As she rose in the ranks at work, Ron clung tighter to the person Hermione used to be. The girl from Hogwarts. The girl in the tent. The girl that put his needs higher in the months (and years) after the war because of the loss of Fred. The girl that made him comfortable due to nothing more than familiarity and proximity.

A girl she couldn't be anymore, not only because she had been working too hard to give him the attention he craved, but because Hermione wanted _more_.

Originally, after the death of their relationship, Hermione thought _more_ was career-related, and she wanted to be the champion for those that couldn't defend themselves. She had plans to make the wizarding world a better place for everyone, to work diligently, to right all the wrongs, end the prejudices. And when they began piling more responsibilities on her to distract her from her efforts, it made it harder to work on her own projects and proposed laws, but she sacrificed sleep and food to get everything done.

But the fulfillment she sought wasn't related to her work. Not completely. That was something she'd learned during the hindsight provided by the damage she'd done to herself and the fallout of her carelessness. The mending and restoration had led to more self-assessment in the months that followed her departure.

It took therapy, buying a house, and starting a garden—it took becoming a _Healer_ —for Hermione to properly heal herself. Not from what had happened, but from all the trauma she'd been too distracted helping everyone else overcome to truly deal with on her own. It had taken a complete overhaul to become more aware of her identity and reconnect to who she had been before the war verses after, now with the full understanding of how one had become the other. She hadn't determined what that _more_ was, but she was aware of what it _wasn't_.

And to her, _more_ didn't involve going backwards. Only moving forward.

"Nothing to say?"

Hermione snorted. "Now, you know me better than that."

"I _do_." He sounded so earnest.

Looking out at the forest, she steeled herself. This was the last time she would have this conversation. "I'm tired of talking about this, especially since you're just going to ignore everything that I'm saying in favour of what _you_ want."

"It's not just about what _I_ want, Hermione. I think you're being stubborn and unreasonable." Ron's undertone of irritation and bitterness burst out into the open, giving voice to feelings he'd been suppressing for the entirety of their short conversation. "You've never moved on, you've never—"

She jerked her head back to Ron just in time to watch him run a frustrated hand through his hair.

"That's factually inaccurate. I don't need to be with someone else to prove to you I've moved on. I'm sick and _tired_ of having to explain myself repeatedly. I'm tired of you thinking that I _have_ to—"

"I'm not telling you that you have to _do_ anything, I'm just saying that I'm here and I want to try and see if we can get back to what we used to have. I want—"

"Do I matter that little to you?" Her voice was smaller than intended, but full of everything she felt.

"You matter a lot to me, Hermione. _Of course_ , you do! It's why I keep trying, even though you refuse to give me a chance. That's all I want. _One_ chance."

"One chance to do what exactly? You want so much _from_ me, Ron, but what _I_ want doesn't matter to you. That's _not_ love. That's not what it means and how it's supposed to feel."

"Herm—"

"It's about mutual respect and acceptance without making one person feel less than—without making them feel like their _wants_ are born out of stubbornness. It's about so much more than that, so much more than I even have the time or energy to explain."

"Hermione, I know what love is, and I _know_ we had it. We owe it to ourselves, our friends, and our families to—"

"I don't owe you or anyone _anything_." The words burned their way out before she could temper her own flames. "I only owe it to _myself_ to always be the best version of who I am at every point in my life. I owe it to myself to be _happy_."

Ron lifted his eyes to hers.

Her confession was hard to speak out loud, but even more difficult to admit to herself. "I—I… I'm not always happy, Ron. I'm restless and I haven't figured out exactly what I want or what I'm looking for. But I _want_ to." Raw emotion coursed through her, growing wilder by the second. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't hide them. Not from him and not from herself. "I want to figure it out. I don't _want_ to settle, and you shouldn't either. You should want more than that. You _deserve_ better than someone who doesn't want the same things as you."

Ron said nothing, only looked away, his lips pressed tight while Hermione further opened the door to the parts of her that she had kept private. Secret. Tamped down during their relationship and in the years following.

"I… I want to be _seen_. I want _intimacy_. I want a _connection_. I want to be turned inside out by someone who knows me just as well as I know myself. I want someone who _loves_ me for who I am, and you don't. I can't keep bending and contorting and stretching myself thin to keep the peace and make you happy. I'll snap. _Again_."

She could tell when the memories jumped to the forefront of his brain by the way his eyes went distant. "Hermione…"

"I love myself. I know my value and identity. Maybe I'll find what I'm looking for, maybe I won't, but I'll wait the rest of my life before I settle for _anything_ less than what I deserve. And I _deserve_ to be loved correctly… or not at all."

_If it doesn't set your soul on fire, it's not worth the burn.  
_ **C. Churchill**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday! This was in the threeway tie for one of my favorite chapters I've written so far. So much happens and foreshadowing galore and deeper meanings to actions and words. My jam. Thanks to my beta dreamsofdramione and my alpha Bailey0407 for all their hard work. I do know Christmas is next Friday and I anticipate to post on schedule.


	12. Touch Me Not

  


**Twelve  
** _Touch Me Not_

_**May 28, 2011** _

When the first bookstore opened in Godric's Hollow between the plant store and the pub, Hermione had been at the front of the line. She was a frequent enough visitor for the owner—an older wizard—to offer to unlock the doors two hours early. Just for her. Hermione's presence in town was generally met with odd looks and the occasional wizard who would ask for a photo. But almost everyone left her alone.

Still just as quaint as she remembered it when she'd come with Harry, the village had expanded in the years after the war, but it was a ghost town early Saturday morning when she knocked on the door of the bookstore.

The bell on top of the door jingled as the door opened, and the older man greeted her with a smile. "Ah, Miss Granger. I've got some new selections for you to peruse."

"At this rate, I'll need another bookshelf." Hermione laughed. "But today I'm here for journals for the kids."

It was something she'd started doing for Harry's kids a few years before, a set of blank pages she encouraged them to fill with whatever they wanted. A creative outlet. Hermione picked out a pink one for Lily to fill hers with scribbles and artwork. There were unicorns on the front and that was _always_ a safe bet. James would stack his with an assortment of his interests, which mainly included Quidditch, and Hermione found one covered in Snitches for him. Al was a little harder to choose for, but she found a journal with the planets on the cover that she knew he would like.

Selections made, Hermione turned, her elbow catching another journal by mistake and knocking it on the floor. She picked it up, ready to return it to its spot, but caught sight of familiar constellations on the front.

Al would probably run out of pages first and he loved the stars. She slid it on top of the other three.

It never hurt to have a spare.

The journals were half-forgotten, nestled deep in her trusty beaded bag, when she made her second stop. She needed to pick up an item on the short list Narcissa had given her from the plant store. A special order kneeling pad for her comfort. It was ornate and ridiculous, but she bought it anyway. And to reward herself for her continued ability to compromise, Hermione decided to indulge in an aloe plant, too. She was in the process of paying when she spotted a drooping cactus.

"Is this priced correctly?"

It was early—too early, as the store had only opened ten minutes before—so when the teenage boy who had barely spoken a word to her covered a yawn with his fist, Hermione didn't judge him.

 _Free Cactus_.

Couldn't be correct.

Everything had a price, even a sagging plant. Hermione had never seen a plant look so sad, and she found herself curious about the little thing. When she grazed her fingers against its spines, pushing to find any soft spots that would determine if the plant had, in fact, already _died_ , it still pricked her in a way that told her it was very much alive.

It made her smile with thoughts about something else that was _just_ as small and defensive.

Perfect, really.

"The price is correct, but it's a lost cause," the clerk replied with a shrug. "Do you want it? If no one takes it by the end of the week, my boss told me to bin it."

Hermione didn't believe in lost causes, so she ended up with a drooping cactus.

The first thing she did upon returning home was place the aloe plant with the others in her conservatory. The second thing she did was search every room of her house that contained books for a very specific one that would help her situation.

One about desert plants.

After all, she already _had_ one cactus, a grumpy thing that Luna had brought back from Mexico. Spelled to keep dry from the rain and humidity, it had no business surviving the English winters in a large pot just outside her back door, but it had stubbornly lived through the last three and showed no signs of dying. So long as she left it alone. Most of the time, when it didn't need pruning and she didn't need its water for a potion, Hermione forgot she even had it.

At long last, she found what she was looking for in a chest full of books she had meant to donate to charity. Relaxing on the ottoman in the conservatory to read, she set the droopy cactus on the small table next to her to bask in the sun. Her skim of pertinent information didn't take long. As it turned out, it wasn't dying. It had been kept in a cold store when it needed warmth, neglected without enough light or water. Of course it was sagging…

It was _stressed_.

Well, Hermione could remedy that. "Shall we, little one?"

With dragon-hide gloves—the task would be painful in anything else—she set a stasis charm and spent the rest of the hour humming to music from the Wireless as she worked to re-pot the prickly little plant. Hermione considered placing it with the others in her conservatory, but as she set warming charms to keep it at the recommended temperature, Hermione changed her mind.

It needed time and attention and the right amount of space.

Maybe then it would perk up and _grow_.

Hermione had just finished when her wards announced the arrival of Pansy and a surprise in the form of chipper Daphne. Hermione took off her gloves and laid them down before leaving to greet her guests, stealing a final glance over her shoulder at her pitiful cactus.

She was just passing the table when Pansy came through the door of the conservatory bearing breakfast with coffees floating above the boxes. Daphne waddled behind her, already sipping on what looked like juice with a straw. They sat at the table and ate French toast because Daphne had a craving for them.

"Don't judge me," she said after she finished her breakfast and half of Pansy's. "I'm celebrating."

"Oh?" Hermione was curious.

"Yes, I went to visit Scorpius and he _looked at me_." That snatched both her and Pansy's attention instantly. Daphne smiled. "It was only for a second, but…"

_It was progress._

"I didn't stay long. Things were tense after Scorpius went to bed. Draco brought up therapy to see if I knew anyone in the area for children—"

Because Daphne had a standing appointment with one and had for _years_.

Hermione had to force herself to breathe because Malfoy had _actually_ listened. "What happened?"

"Not sure, but Narcissa wasn't keen on the idea, saying there was nothing wrong with him. That he's just stubborn. Draco… well, he got frustrated and stormed out. I wasn't trying to be around Narcissa any longer than necessary so I left as well."

There were at least thirteen more questions bouncing around Hermione's head, but she knew better than to blurt them all out at once. "Oh, that's _interesting_."

"Yes, but also odd. Still, I won't complain. I'm going to ask my therapist for recommendations."

Well, that was something, so they ate French toast to celebrate small victories.

"I'm growing life and trying not to end my husband's because he's hovering." Daphne rubbed her belly fondly as Hermione laughed along with Pansy. "Laugh now, but at some point you'll _both_ be where I am now."

They both stopped laughing, and Pansy blanched. "Hope to fucking Merlin not! Besides, I can speak for Granger as well when I say I am _happily_ self-coupled."

Secretly, Hermione didn't _completely_ reject the idea like her friend.

"Wait a minute." Daphne cocked a blond eyebrow and rested her folded arms on top of her baby bump. "Didn't you spray your perfume on Percy Weasley's invitation to your Summer Solstice party?"

"I would _never_ —" Pansy looked scandalized. At the disbelief on her friend's faces, she tried another angle. "It was a slip of the hand." Hermione folded her arms to match Daphne, leaning back in her chair. "Perhaps I _might_ have done that, but how dare you ruin our circle of trust, Daphne?"

"Oh, _I_ already knew, if that's what you're worried about." Hermione waved a lazy hand. "Dean gave Percy the invitation so of course he told Ron about it. Ron told me the day before yesterday."

There was a sour look on Pansy's face for several long seconds. "Did he like it?" she asked in an uncharacteristic rush for their nonchalant friend.

"Ron didn't give a detailed account of his reaction, but I know that he cleared his schedule to attend." Hermione watched Pansy smother her pleased expression by smiling into her cup. "Last I checked, you were complaining about his flowers. What changed?"

"Somehow he figured that I like orchids and tulips." Pansy gave her a knowing glare. Hermione looked away and whistled. Pansy rolled her eyes. "That's what I thought. _Anyway_ , I saw him at the Ministry. He asked me to take tea with him so, naturally, I gave him the most complicated tea request I could think of, just to be a bitch—" _Of course she did_. "But by the time I made it to his office, he had a cup waiting for me. It was impressive. And the conversation wasn't dull. He invited me to lunch on Tuesday, but I haven't responded yet. He's quite… _rigid_."

Hermione and Daphne exchanged knowing looks. Pansy's ex-husband had been a strict traditionalist and a very controlling man who made her feel worthless. While there were things that had been ingrained in her since birth, she'd done everything possible to leave what she could behind. They both knew their friend ran at a moment's notice when anything reminded her of what she'd left behind.

She and Daphne had a silent conversation where the latter agreed to let Hermione take the lead. "Percy is…" she trailed off for a second, choosing her words. "Okay, _yes_ , he's rigid and a bit intense, but he's a good man. And who knows? He might be _good_ for you."

Pansy finished her juice and cut her eyes between her friends. "Was that supposed to be a pep talk? Because bloody hell, Granger, that was _terrible_."

They all laughed.

"Wear something floral," Daphne suggested.

"How do you know I'm going to say yes?"

"Because I know _you_."

Hermione never understood their dynamic. They were close, but also cycled between hating and loving each other. Regularly. When Daphne and Dean eloped about a year after the war—to the shock of literally _everyone_ —the former had been distraught when Pansy had cut her out just like everyone else in the pureblood circle.

Of course, Pansy had been newly married and living in Germany at the time, under the thumb of her husband. They hadn't spoken until just over three years prior when Pansy had shown up with bruises from her mother's hexes and a wild determination to become a new person.

Still, they argued and fought. There had been times when Pansy had refused to go to events if Daphne was going to be there. But all of that ended when Astoria's condition deteriorated, when they'd returned to London and the inevitable turned into _any day now_. When she died and Daphne started to drown in her grief, Pansy had halted her current projects and all but moved into their home for a week to help Dean keep her afloat.

For herself and the baby she was carrying.

Pansy had fed her crackers while she'd cried. Sat in the tub and held her hand while Dean kept her hair back as she got sick. Stayed by her side when she'd wandered around listless. Hugged her when she'd wanted it. Left her alone when she'd needed it. Pansy had even become quite adept at cleaning charms.

And how did Hermione know all this?

Because she'd let Pansy talk it out. Every day.

And grieve on her sofa. Every night.

Initially, Dean hadn't been enthused—because of the long-standing animosity between them—but after a few days, when Harry had asked him how it was going with Pansy's invasion after they'd dragged him out for a pint, he'd finished his and said, " _She's not so bad."_

A week hadn't been enough, as there was no timeline for grief, but Pansy knew it was time to leave them to pick up the pieces together. Rebuild. And they did.

They still were.

"Why were you at the Ministry anyway?" Hermione asked.

"I went to have lunch with Draco to annoy him into letting us take him to dinner—" Pansy glanced at Daphne. "He said yes, by the way. To the group dinner."

Daphne smiled and adjusted in her chair. One or two more shifts in her chair and she would be ready to sit on an actual sofa. With her feet up. "How much did he argue?"

"He said yes."

"That's not what I asked."

"Just yes… you know, let's leave it at him agreeing." Pansy lazily waved her hand. "The rest is irrelevant."

" _So_ …" Daphne trailed off with an excited look Hermione had only seen a few times, but it always had something to do with food. "Important question: will there be cake?"

Nothing had changed, Hermione chuckled to herself, but then frowned, slightly lost. "Sorry, whose birthday is it?"

They both looked at her as if she'd gone insane. "It's Draco's."

"I didn't know that." If she had known that at some point, time had definitely made the exact date vanish from her memory. Narcissa hadn't mentioned _anything_ about his birthday—or about _him_ —only the end of season soirée she had been chosen to host just before the start of summer.

"I suppose you wouldn't." Pansy shrugged. "Well, his birthday is on June fifth, and he's agreed to dinner. Nothing fancy, of course. Want to join us?"

For a moment, Hermione thought she was addressing Daphne, but as it turned out, they were both looking at _her_. She swallowed, eyes flickering back and forth between the two expectant witches.

"Umm… Malfoy and I aren't…"

He was a curiosity she had only just admitted to having. Well, admitted to herself, at least. Outside of that, they were acquaintances, but _certainly_ not friendly enough for her to attend his _birthday_ dinner.

"Well, we're not too much of anything, really. Outside of helping him and Harry with the logistics of a raid they're working on, and morning tea discussions about articles in the paper, we don't really speak."

They exchanged confused looks.

"Morning tea discussions?" Pansy folded her hands on her lap. "And that is…?"

Uncomfortable under two sets of probing eyes, Hermione awkwardly shrugged, looked away while examining the ends of her hair. She needed a trim. Badly. "We discuss the articles in the paper he's reading. I'm usually making breakfast, but I make him a cup of tea. It's a fruity blend Narcissa likes. It's light."

If at all possible, they looked even more _confused_.

"Draco prefers either coffee or tea so strong it's almost black. He also has never let _me_ make him a cup of tea," Pansy informed her with a look so serious Hermione thought there was going to be a test on it later.

"Could be because you're shite at it."

Pansy ignored Hermione's sarcastic comeback. " _Also_ he won't allow outside… well, _anything_. Nor will he or drink or eat something when he can't identify where it's come from. I am genuinely surprised he lets you make Narcissa's meals—he's extremely paranoid." The two witches gave each other cagey glances. "With good reason."

Great.

Now there were even _more_ questions crashing together like waves against rocks, but she thought it best if she gave them time to subside. Calm down. Arrange themselves in logical order. Preferably when she had a Quick-Quotes Quill. Or a tape recorder.

They were watching her expectantly, and Hermione shrugged. "Not sure what to say."

She was certain he watched her… maybe that was due to his paranoia that she might lace Narcissa's food, which was patently _ridiculous_ as she had been working hard to keep his mother's faculties intact for as long as possible.

If Hermione truly wanted to harm his mother, all she had to do was _wait_.

"As far our mornings, that's how they go. He used to read, work on his crossword, and leave, but now he talks either very little or at length." It depended on his mood and level of agitation with her. Hermione kept that to herself. "But he leaves at precisely seven every morning."

Despite that one break in the habit.

"Oh!" Pansy snapped her fingers. "How did dinner go with your parents?"

"Abysmally." Hermione sighed. "Ron was there. My mother was trying to play matchmaker."

They both winced, but it was Daphne who spoke up. "I heard."

"How?"

The fact that their conversation had already spread amongst their friend group made her intensely uncomfortable. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Hermione was an only child and didn't have many friends before Harry and Ron, but she was a private person who kept everything close, especially if it was personal. Ron, who had so many siblings, never had privacy so he saw no issues with sharing. Their relationship problems being known and spoken about had been one of their _many_ issues while they were dating.

"After he left you, he went to the pub with Dean and Neville. Dean told me, obviously," Daphne said. Apparently she hadn't told Pansy, who looked supremely confused…and slightly betrayed. "Wasn't my place." Daphne shrugged and sipped her orange juice. "I'll admit, I thought at some point he'd convince you, but I'm glad to be wrong."

Pansy relaxed in her chair. "Sounds like you're _finally_ admitting that you're not _fine as you are_." A sharp spike in adrenaline accompanied her words, but when Pansy held her hand up, Hermione settled down. "I don't want details. I'm just glad you've stopped lying to yourself. I'm also glad I don't have to worry about you going back to _that_ Weasley." She shuddered delicately.

"Why would you both think that?" Hermione _had_ to know if something she'd said or done made people think she would go back to Ron, despite being vocal about them not working.

Daphne and Pansy exchanged looks before the latter folded her arms and waited while the former looked around and huffed. "I like visiting you. Not just because we've gotten close over the years or because I've found peace here since my sister died, but I come here to keep you company. It wasn't the only reason Girls Night was started, but it was one reason. Ginny thought—well, we all know that lonely people will get to the point where they'll do what it takes to not be lonely anymore." Daphne gave her a meaningful look.

Hermione was embarrassed. Shocked. She didn't know how to process the new information. Half of her wanted to be angry, to declare that their worries weren't necessary, but the other part secretly knew they had a point, and _maybe_ even a reason to worry enough to start a group activity. "I understand that you all were acting as my friends, but I'm not that person. I—"

"We know that _now_." Daphne rested a hand on her stomach, a sign that her baby was moving. "But it's hard to tell what you will and won't do because you're guarded and you keep yourself incredibly busy. You _seem_ okay, especially when you're taking on everything and everyone effortlessly, but I know how _that_ looks. I've seen it in D—" Daphne cut herself off and looked down. "Anyway, I just thought eventually you would get tired of it and go back. Besides, when you two had that one off two years ago—"

"Merlin, don't _remind_ me," Pansy blurted out. "I was barely your mate then but I wanted to shove you off a cliff when you told me what had happened."

"I believe you told me just that." _Loudly_ and with a lot more swearing, if Hermione recalled correctly. Pansy seemed to remember the same conversation all at once and smiled, still proud of herself. There was also mention of her being too smart to do something so fucking idiotic. She remembered thinking it had almost felt like a compliment.

Daphne looked between them and shifted in her chair again. "Weasley will get over the wound to his ego, but for what it's worth, I'm glad you're not going to settle."

"Tell me that again when I'm forty and surrounded by cats and chickens. I—"

"No more _bloody_ chickens!" Pansy exclaimed. "Fuck _off_ with that."

Daphne laughed. "They're cute."

"One of them pecked me. I can't remember which one so I hate them all." Pansy's logic was clearly sound to herself.

"Well, I'm not settling, so no worries there."

"Good." Pansy reached for Daphne's juice until the witch slapped her hand, even though she was eyeing the climbing roses. Hermione picked up her own drink and regarded the now frowning Pansy with a smirk. Something she did must have triggered a thought because Pansy's eyes widened; defeat all but forgotten. "Speaking of _drinks_ —"

"Literally, _no one_ was speaking about drinks," Daphne deadpanned.

"Semantics." A handwave later and Pansy had fully shifted towards Hermione. "About my inhibition potion for my solstice party. How is it coming along? Did Blaise deliver what you needed?"

"One question at a time. It's going well. Blaise delivered everything I needed so I'll brew it today. If we've missed anything, I have to do inventory later so I'll be sure to send him a list. It should be ready before the party."

"I'll make sure he doesn't delay."

"How strong are you making it?" Daphne asked.

Hermione smiled. "Strong enough for Pansy to say hello to Cho willingly."

The blonde witch cut her eyes over to her old classmate. "Why exactly don't you like her? I need details, because your hatred of her— _while comical_ —is confusing."

Pansy was ready. Almost like she'd been waiting for this moment. "She's too nice, too positive, too pretty, too smart, too humble—"

"So…" Daphne theorised with a wave of her hand. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't like Cho Chang because she's a good person?"

" _Exactly!_ " Then Pansy reconsidered her stance. " _Well_ , sort of. It's really because she's _too_ good of a person. It's _unnatural_. She forgave Granger for disfiguring her friend—"

"That was _literally_ half a lifetime ago," Hermione argued. "We've all grown up and Marietta's face is just _fine_." Well, it was once the word had faded. It took a few years for it to completely vanish.

She was aware that she _probably_ could have handled that better.

Shockingly, there were no hard feelings. The last time she had seen Marietta was at Padma's engagement dinner in February. Marietta was an Unspeakable, married to a wizard who worked in Magical Transportation. They had two children—girls. Her life was normal and she was happy.

"But still!" Pansy argued. "If someone disfigured me, would you forgive them?"

Daphne paused for so long it made Pansy scowl. "I mean, let's be honest. Granger's a fighter and will most likely be doing the disfiguring…"

"I am _not!_ " Hermione's indignation was wholly ignored.

"As for me, it depends on what you did, and if I like you at that moment." Daphne flashed a too-wide grin.

Pansy fixed her lips to argue, but shut them in dramatic fashion, examining her nails. "Okay, that's fair."

Hermione cleared her throat. "I would like to point out that I'm _out_ of the disfigurement game."

"Sure you are."

Hermione turned to Daphne for assistance, but only received a raised eyebrow in return. Then she pushed her hair over her shoulder and adjusted in her seat for a third time. By the way she was holding her round belly, it had less to do with discomfort of the chair and more to do with being kicked in the ribs by an active baby.

"Face it, Granger," Daphne said finally. "You're always willing to do what you feel is right, and if that means charming a parchment to make sure everyone remains loyal, then so be it. It's ruthless in a morally grey way that I can respect." She gave a half shrug and Pansy nodded along in agreement. "You'll fight for anything you believe in, even when it's not your war."

"That's who I am." Hermione looked over, catching sight of the drooping cactus that bathed in sunlight. "I think you both know, like I do, that some things are worth fighting for."

* * *

When Hermione became a Healer, and later when she privatised and specialised her care in her current department, she made a promise to herself that she would never work on the weekends.

For five days, she worked diligently, but the weekends were her time to do what she pleased. A chance to refresh. A break from the pressures and routine of working and caring for patients. And with a patient like Narcissa Malfoy… well, she needed the time away.

It was mere minutes after Daphne and Pansy had left when Draco Malfoy's name appeared on her calendar—blocking three hours off for a meeting that would begin at three o'clock. Hermione almost declined, and _would have_ had she been confident that he would reschedule for another day during the week, rather than the more likely alternative: not at all.

Except he owed her.

And yet.

Some battles weren't worth starting, let alone fighting, so she accepted the meeting.

Then Hermione went about her chores: gardening and watering the plants in the greenhouse, feeding the chickens, and collecting eggs. She made a meal—roasted chicken and potatoes—as his meeting would run right into dinner time. Or over, should it take longer than anticipated to answer the questions.

Time quickly got away from her, as it often did. The sun had peaked in the sky when she turned her work indoors. After a quick lunch, she had an even quicker Floo call with Ginny. The kids wanted to talk to her. Mainly Albus, who inquired about several things, including his marker and his future friend.

She got off the call wondering if Harry and Malfoy had talked about their sons meeting.

The lack of surprise from Ginny told her that he'd at least brought it up to _her_.

That was something.

Hermione glanced at her watch. It was a quarter past two and there was time for one last task before Malfoy's arrival via her office's Floo. That way, after he left, she could relax until it was time to meet everyone for drinks—a monthly (or so) outing that had evolved over the years and blended all her social circles together for one loud and boisterous evening.

Motivated, she began the careful process of hanging herbs to dry in the designated area inside her brewing room, all while making notes of ingredients she would need to order from Blaise with a Quick-Quotes Quill.

Focused on her task, Hermione barely registered the tingle of her wards coming to life, signalling the acceptance of a new arrival.

_Malfoy._

She figured Malfoy would remain in her office, poking around her space as she'd done his, so she took a moment to finish hanging the last of her muslin bags from the ceiling. After dusting her hands off on her jeans, Hermione glanced down at herself and frowned at her denim smock dress, black leggings, and green Wellies.

Not very professional, but impressing Draco Malfoy wasn't her job—especially not on a Saturday.

Still, Hermione fixed her messy bun and threw open the door to her brewing room only to find Malfoy preparing to step directly in front of the door. The only hint of his hesitation and discomfort was the way his focus initially seemed to be further down the hall, searching.

Well, until it shifted abruptly to her.

They both froze like statues. If her heart leapt in her chest, no one was any the wiser.

Least of all him.

Hand still on the door, Hermione's fingers tightened around the knob. "I assumed that you would wait in my office."

"I wasn't sure if you had received the meeting invitation via the Magi-Scheduler. It appears that you…" Malfoy trailed off, looking past her into the part of the brewing room he could see from his vantage point. His expression slowly morphed into one that she couldn't put into words. _Intrigued_? Perhaps. In a way. "You have a brewing room?"

 _Definitely_ intrigued. "Yes, I…"

The words died on her tongue when Malfoy took an unconscious, distracted step towards her, entering into the outer edges of her space. Hermione inhaled, wanting to step back, but there was nowhere to go.

It wasn't their first breach of personal space, but this one made her take notice. After that night with Scorpius, Malfoy had maintained his distance. Physical or otherwise. It seemed like a conscious effort. He would observe and dissect, comment and argue each of his points to resolution, but he operated from the safety of his own citadel.

Never leaving.

But Malfoy's almost unlimited self-control, and his aloof and guarded manner weren't limited to just her. She knew that from her own observations and interactions. From his mother to Harry to everyone he spoke to at the charity event… He treated everyone differently, according to several factors, likely history and propriety, but kept them all at arm's length, never letting anyone close. Hermione hadn't bothered to analyse him from that vantage point before (or compare them to the times when he'd stepped too close) because it had never mattered.

Until right then when Malfoy stepped into her territory.

Unsure of her own voice, Hermione stepped aside, putting as much space between them as she could.

"Would you like a tour?" It was the only question she could think to ask. Malfoy didn't respond with words, just accepted her invitation with one of his piercing looks. With nothing else to do, Hermione watched him as he explored from the doorway.

He had dressed casually, though it didn't seem like the best word to describe his attire. Still black, of course, but more relaxed. The fit of his trousers weren't so perfect and the top two buttons of his dress shirt were unbuttoned. He didn't even wear a jacket or tie.

Business casual.

Malfoy's first stop on his journey around the room was to the wall alongside the door with floor to ceiling bookshelves. It was filled to the brim with potion tomes that he greeted by running his fingers across the spines, stopping every so often to read a title. The almost careful manner in which he explored caused an odd feeling to blossom in her chest, one she didn't know how to describe, only that it didn't feel right.

Strange.

From the books, he continued on, the sound of his shoes echoing on the stone floor. He had a quick look in her drying space, where herbs hung low from the ceiling in muslin bags. It was perfect for her height to reach up, but a challenge for him if he didn't want to bump into any of the sacks and disrupt their progress.

With one backwards step, Malfoy exited, turning towards the main attraction.

Her cauldrons.

All of them.

Beneath two large windows with the curtains currently drawn, there was a table that stretched the entire width of the room. Five cauldrons of increasing size and density sat on top, made with different bases and equally spaced apart with spots to prepare and chop. Each cauldron had a specific purpose. All were ready for immediate use with a small, hovering bookstand, ready to meet her at the cauldron of her choosing. Under the table were extras that weren't needed often—the rare ones.

With his hands behind his back, Malfoy examined each, sizing them up in a silence so tense she instantly wanted to fill it with words.

 _Something_.

Hermione only barely managed to stop herself from providing a lengthy explanation about her reasoning behind having so many cauldrons. Barely stopped herself from visibly twitching. There was an odd feeling growing in her chest as he went from small to large… and then turned his attention to the largest of them all.

In the centre of the room, with its own book stand, was her biggest cauldron—aptly nicknamed by Harry when she'd first purchased it over two years ago: _Tank._ It was easily large enough to completely submerge _her_ should she sit inside. To use it, due to her height, Hermione had to stand on a stool.

There and gone, a thought passed.

_Malfoy wouldn't need anything._

Like the others, he inspected it with the same careful ease he seemed to show all her cauldrons. But unlike the others, Malfoy walked around Tank _twice_ —the second time he brought one hand from behind him to run a finger along the brim as if he were checking for dust.

Her fidgeting worsened as his tour continued, and she wrung her hands together and tapped her foot. Playing with her hair and dusting invisible dirt from her smock dress. Not knowing where her agitation stemmed from bothered her, but Hermione wrapped her fingers around her left wrist and squeezed to further tamp down the peculiar feeling twisting and heating up inside her.

Or, she tried to.

But it wasn't working.

Malfoy vanished into her stores with its rows of shelves that started just off the floor and ended right above the doorway, packed with ingredients she'd either stored herself or purchased. For a second, she remembered that her Quick-Quote Quill was still in there, ready to continue her list. She wondered if he would look.

Probably.

Then she wondered if she would still feel so strange if he were making comments—critical or otherwise—or maybe even if he asked questions. But he said _nothing_. His expression wasn't detached, but it wasn't welcoming either. Intrigued, but not exuberant. In fact, as the silence continued on, his unresponsiveness marched her closer and closer to an unfamiliar edge. The longer Malfoy was out of sight, the more Hermione continued to stew in discomfort… until the answer dawned on her like a lost key that had been in her hand all along.

Outside of herself, no one had ever been interested enough to look around. Explore. Analyse. And now _Malfoy_ —of all people—was in there doing just that, inspecting a part of her world that she had never shown anyone. A place where Hermione spent enough time to not see the flaws—tea cups left around the room, bulbs that needed changing. Tank could use a thorough cleaning as well. It was a part of her that, thanks to his visit, she'd only just realised was private.

The invasion didn't feel good.

Not because of anything he was doing. No, her feelings stemmed from within and the fact that all she could do was wonder what he was thinking—if he was thinking anything at all.

Was he observing her world rather than judging it?

_And did he like what he saw?_

She needed to know the answer, if only to satisfy a minuscule part of her curiosity.

Not to know if he approved.

Hermione first rubbed her temple, then dragged her hand down her face, cursing herself for letting him in instead of redirecting him to her office. Unfortunately, she had no one to blame but herself.

By the time Malfoy emerged from her stores, face still annoyingly blank, Hermione had managed to wrangle her features into an arrangement resembling clinical neutrality, but only after she'd subdued her agitation into submission.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Are you finished?"

In lieu of an answer, Malfoy took one last look around. "I wasn't aware that you brewed in your home."

"Your mother's potions need to be made weekly. Where else would I be able to brew?" He looked back at her, grey eyes slightly widening with surprise. Meanwhile, hers narrowed. "She didn't tell you?"

"We don't discuss her treatment." Malfoy's face hardened, confirming what she had already observed: they didn't discuss much of anything. Hermione kept the questions about that to herself. His visit wasn't casual. Favour or not, it would be a shame if he left in anger before she could get the information she needed. Malfoy touched Tank's bookstand. "I still find it strange that _you're_ the one who brews my mother's potions."

She stood up straighter, stance defensive. "We're not about to have this brewing with books argument again."

"I'd rather not repeat that particular exercise in futility."

"You still disagree with my method, then?"

"I doubt a few weeks will change either of our fundamentally different stances on the subject." Malfoy gave her a pointed look that she ignored in favour of glancing in the direction of her drying room, noticing that one of the muslin bags was perilously close to slipping off. "My surprise stems from the fact that not only do you brew, but you have an entire room dedicated to a craft that you're not passionate about."

"I think the fact that I have an entire room shows at least some level of passion."

"Perhaps to your career, but not to the art."

Hermione fought back a scoff. "That's a bold assumption."

"Tell me then." His eyes fell on her like lead weights. "Am I _wrong_?"

Well, _no_. He wasn't. Which _burned_.

However, Hermione would rather fling herself off the metaphorical bridge she was trying to construct than give Malfoy the satisfaction of being correct about anything that pertained to her. That had been a lucky guess.

"Are you still checking your mother's potions batch?"

"Yes." Malfoy matched her in both attitude and posture. "I make it my business to look at every _thing_ and every _one_ that enters my home."

"Because you only trust yourself."

Now it was his turn to remain silent.

It felt like they'd reached a stalemate; neither were gaining any ground. Rather than dig trenches, Hermione gestured to the door. "We should get on with the purpose of your visit. If you'll follow me…" She led the way out and was already in the hall before Malfoy could so much as move.

Still, she watched with a certain level of questioning discomfort as he took one last look around before following her out. Hermione took a large step back once he filled the space in the hall with his presence. "Lead the way, Granger."

Normally, she would have routed him back to her office for their meeting, but her own agitation made her change her mind and adjust. The thought of being with him in her crowded office for the length of time needed to go through her questions made her uncomfortable.

She needed the space.

The sunlight.

"Just a moment." Hermione left him standing there, deliberately ignoring the look on his face.

After gathering everything she needed—the set of questions she'd transposed to the parchment she'd given him, notebook,pen, and recorder for the bits she inevitably missed—she returned to Malfoy, who hadn't moved from his spot. And if she caught him still glancing back to her brewing room, well… it gave Hermione the answer she had been trying to discern from his silence.

Malfoy _approved_.

* * *

Hermione continued down the hall that led to the open space of her living room and kitchen. Looking over her shoulder at the sharp-eyed man, she wasn't surprised to find him taking it all in, scrutinising her home. He had only seen from the outside, and it was so different from his. Colour in spots where his was neutral, cluttered where his was empty. The scent of cooked food still lingering in the air, and two plates sat on the island under stasis charms.

She thought Malfoy would comment, but he didn't, eyeing the herbs in the windowsill above her sink.

"Just this way." Hermione opened the door to her conservatory, leading the way to the table. Malfoy just stood in the doorway, eyes moving back and forth, taking in what his mother had called her _jungle_ just the day before.

Whether that had been a compliment remained to be determined.

Hermione was setting up the table when Malfoy finally joined her, still looking around, even as he retrieved a shrunken briefcase from his pocket. He took his eyes off their surroundings for a moment as he spelled the briefcase back to its regular size. After summoning what he needed, his glasses and the parchment she'd presented him with, he stood next to his chair, his eyes on her.

Waiting.

Maybe for her. Maybe for the battle to begin.

But today, there was no need for a fight.

Not when his presence was the equivalent of an armistice.

However temporary.

"Before we start, I suggest we take a short walk. We can call it a continuation of the tour or an icebreaker." It wasn't a stretch at all, or even an uncommon act when meeting with a family member of a patient. Granted, it usually happened either in her office at home or at the hospital. This location would be new, even if the suggestion was the same.

But Malfoy looked at her as if she were asking him to do the impossible, like stand in the centre of an inferno and not choke on the flames.

"An icebreaker?" The texture of his voice felt like silk brushing against her nerves. "The activity would be appropriate if we were strangers." Malfoy's brow quirked so quickly she almost missed it. "I don't believe you and I meet the qualifications. First and foremost, we aren't strangers."

Hermione folded her arms. "But we aren't friends."

"You're correct."

They weren't anything at all outside of people whose lives had been entwined to the point where they shared space, conversation, and a rare meal. Two people who had grown up together, seen each other in school for years, interacted, but didn't know each other at all. Her analysis felt like a gross oversimplification of the complex maze that was their past and present, but that was the best Hermione could do with the question mark standing in front of her.

"I still think an icebreaker would—"

"You didn't invite me here to get to know me. You invited me to answer forty-six questions, but since you _insist_ , Granger, lead the way."

After a lingering look, Hermione did just that.

The late May air was warm and slightly humid; the breeze was still scented from last night's rain. It was sunny out, something that was becoming less rare as they marched towards summer. Blue skies expanded in all directions with thin clouds that did little to block the sun. But that didn't matter.

It might not have been a true icebreaker, but Hermione found that she probably needed the moment more than Malfoy did. She began to unfurl like a tightly closed flower under the expanse of the afternoon sky, that coiled spring inside her chest slowly unravelling. The inhale she took was deep, rehabilitating, and when she exhaled, it felt like the first time she'd done so in _weeks_.

The air around them had little to do with the simmering tension Hermione constantly felt in his presence—that was as normal to her as magic itself. No, the environment was peaceful. Relaxing. Liberating. Removed from civilization, all that was left was the green expanse of the pasture that stretched to the edges of the forest, clucking chickens, wind rustling the trees in the breeze, and the small, unconscious reminders of Malfoy's presence.

He hadn't so much as looked in her direction since opening the door with a polite yet stiff ' _after you_ ' gesture. His grey eyes had taken to the skies and the world beyond her home, absorbing everything. Malfoy looked indifferent for a while. His default setting. But with each glance Hermione snuck in his direction, the more she wondered, the more she thought something might be there. Maybe a quizzical sort of approval.

Or maybe she was hallucinating and it was nothing.

But then Malfoy abruptly stopped and looked back. "You grow mainly herbs and both root and leafy vegetables outdoors."

That was not a comment Hermione had expected. "Yes, at least I do at this time of year. There are a few fruits I'm growing out here." She pointed to each. "Strawberries are over there, rhubarb. I've cleared that bed to plant pumpkins, and that one is for courgettes."

"And you grow all of this for your patients." Another one of his non-questions that begged for an answer.

"Mostly, but also for my family, friends, and myself. It's purposeful." Hermione looked around and a random thought struck her at the oddest of moments. "Scorpius would love it here." Her head snapped back to Malfoy, who had gone from carefully blank to contemptuous.

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

"What makes you say that?"

Hermione could tell he was ready for an argument, but rather in defence than offense. She made herself relax, removed the natural edge from her tone, and continued walking, only looking over at Malfoy when he started walking with her again.

She stared straight ahead, smiling as she thought of the little boy holding the spring of mint like it was something precious. "He likes plants."

 _Loves_ was the more appropriate phrase, given his daily reaction to each sprig and clipping Hermione let him hold over breakfast. Narcissa allowed it, as she had a similar passion, but said nothing. She just watched. Observed. She had questions, Hermione could tell, and they likely pertained to the fact that every day since he'd taken her hand, Scorpius was shifting closer, looking at her more, _staring_.

When Hermione sat next to him instead of across the table the day before, he'd held the hem of her shirt for most of breakfast. Neither of them had moved until it was time for him to go to his lessons. It had been a blur trying to divide her attention between Narcissa and Scorpius, but the only thing she remembered was not wanting to sever the literal connection he had reached for.

"And you know this _how_?"

The answer was layered. "I bring him a clipping or a sprig of a plant each day. Or, at least I have been since Tuesday." When confusion crossed his strong features, Hermione knew just what to say. "Your mother knows."

Which didn't return Malfoy to his default.

His quiet demand for more became louder in the moment of silence.

But there wasn't much to tell.

Scorpius was still the same hyper-obedient child who did everything as he should both _in_ his grandmother's presence and out. Still the miserable and lonely boy with a rigid schedule, weighed down by ridiculous rules and training… _Still_ the child whose cup she moved from right to left each day. The one she waved to each time he left.

It had been a few days since he'd taken her hand, but the shift had begun. That was hard to articulate.

Each reaction to a new plant was slightly different than the previous. Chamomile got her worried looks until Narcissa lifted the book to cover her eyes. Lavender was the first he'd accepted in his grandmother's presence. Rosemary stirred his curiosity. And yesterday, he held on to the parsley longer than he had any of the others.

Hermione found herself already planning, listing, and ordering herbs that she wanted—

"So he likes plants." Malfoy's statement ended her musing abruptly.

"Yes."

There was a small part of her that waited with bated breath for further questions and scrutiny, but none came from the man beside her who observed everything with his hands clasped behind his back. Malfoy continued walking and Hermione fell in step with him, only stopping once they reached the greenhouse and he opened the door for her without asking.

"I can—"

Malfoy held the door open wider, barely concealed impatience etched in his expression. Exactly why he was doing it had little to do with want and more to do with his own etiquette, manners, and _training_.

She _really_ hated that word.

With a huff, she walked through the door and when she heard it shut with a soft click, Hermione turned and caught him. Malfoy's hand was still on the knob, but his sharp eyes were everywhere, taking in the space she spent just as much time in as she did the inside of her home. There was a part of her that wanted to be as uncomfortable with his exploration here as she had been in the brewing room, but he didn't seem judgmental. Just curious.

Malfoy walked past her as if she didn't exist, but she casually invited him to have a look around.

Not that he heard her.

Hermione excused herself to fix a few of the large bags of soil that were leaning precariously. The task took longer than anticipated. One of the bags was close to ripping and then she decided where they were wasn't the best place. A few charms later and her task was complete.

She didn't have to look long to find Malfoy.

Black contrasted with everything vibrant and light. Hermione found the colour abrupt and sharp, but against the lush surroundings of her greenhouse, Malfoy was striking. And when he carded his fingers through his hair—well…

She took out her wand to check the temperature control charms. The charms were fine.

Weirdly enough.

Hermione joined him in front of the tangerine tree. None were ripe yet, but there would be plenty when it was ready. She followed him over to the lemons that were mere days away from pickable condition.

"No wonder you needed my mother's help with gardening."

His first comment.

"I didn't _need_ it, per se." Or her very haughty criticisms of… well, _everything_ , but missing Auror and lost memories aside, the experience hadn't been entirely negative. Hermione had learned a lot, written down more, and was almost looking forward to their next gardening session. "I've already told you this, but she finds exercise tedious, despite the importance of physical activity in her care plan. Your mother enjoys gardening, as you might know, and well…" Hermione gestured to the life around them. "It was a compromise."

"Funny, she's never been good at those until you."

She snorted. "She's likely never needed to study the art _until_ me, so there's that."

Malfoy didn't disagree. "I also don't think I've seen my mother so frustrated with a person."

"Outside of you?" Hermione cocked a brow. Narcissa was _endlessly_ frustrated, both _with_ her son and _by_ his actions… or lack thereof.

He didn't issue a denial. Nor did he argue. Malfoy did what he was good at: he created a verbal diversion. "What are the empty tables for?"

"For expansion purposes." She skimmed her fingers along the green leaf of the arka plant. "I have to ensure the quality of the ingredients I use for the potions I brew for my patients."

Malfoy remained silent, but when he spoke up, his tone was even and almost casual, even if his words were not. "Have you answered your questions yet?"

"About?"

" _Me_."

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she sputtered, shocked and unable to form a good argument that he wouldn't cut through with the same finesse he employed on his crosswords. "I—"

There was space between them, but it barely equalled a metre. Hermione found herself lifting her chin up just to keep watch. In the unfiltered brightness of the greenhouse, Malfoy's eyes were piercing, searching, cold despite the controlled warmth of the space. Feeling cornered in an open room wasn't new, but when Malfoy turned and eliminated half of the distance between them, she felt the uptick of her pulse, felt time all around her slow, felt that familiar sensation of fight or flight.

"I know when I'm being analysed, Granger," Malfoy said coolly, still probing for whatever it was about her that—if Harry's comment was to be believed—didn't ring true or honest. "You've been assessing me since becoming my mother's Healer. You've been doing it since I got here."

It was easy to lie or divert elsewhere, but no. That wasn't in her nature.

"So have you." Hermione brashly stared at the man still observing her with an intensity that she was now familiar with but still unsettled by. The warring emotions in her should have stolen her eloquence, but instead it made her bolder. "Have _you_ figured _me_ out?"

The silence that followed her question was only a few seconds, but it felt never-ending. Hermione used it to predict _his_ next move and figure out her own. She knew, like she knew every plant in her vegetable patch, that Malfoy was doing the same. Even though she had a list of ideas about his response, he _still_ managed to surprise her by issuing a silent agreement. He gave her no option but to take it when he lifted his eyes past hers before continuing his tour of her world.

Hermione went with him.

She analysed their exchange to death during the silence that continued even once they were outside her greenhouse and matching strides as they ventured towards the forest. His choice, not hers. They were just starting the walk when Malfoy's hands disappeared into the pocket of his trousers. His relaxed posture was the opposite of his stern expression. Hermione could almost _feel_ his coiled tension.

"I suppose in order to fulfill your requirement for an icebreaker, since we have but a few safe topics of discussion, we could continue the argument regarding your need to separate your pragmatism from your idealism. Or I could leave it on the calendar for Monday."

A flash of memory from last night's argument with both her mother and Ron appeared in her head. "Better leave it there. After last night, I've done enough arguing to last me _weeks_." One blond brow rose, but he said nothing further. Why she offered more, Hermione had no idea, but honesty spilled from her unchecked. "My mother has ideas about how I should live my life. I—" And then realised who was on the other side of the conversation. She snatched her words back before more could escape. Except four. "Apparently yours does, too."

"Apparently so." Malfoy's gaze returned to the pasture before him. "But that's not a topic I'm willing to discuss."

_With you._

"Same."

There was a pause. A shift in the breeze and energy between and around them. Malfoy's attention went to the rustling trees. "Your wards are intriguing. Did you set them yourself?"

"No, I had a Specialist set them when I first moved in after the threats started. I've read enough to learn how to make improvements." He rolled his eyes and shook his head, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "I improved the security measures and the bit of warding magic that both allows and restricts access to my home."

"How far do they extend?"

"Everything that falls within my property, which extends into the forest." When she glanced over, it seemed as though he were making a mental note. Which made a small alarm go off. Leave it to Malfoy to change the rules. "These don't sound like icebreaker questions."

"They're not," he admitted. "Potter is curious how Mathers got past your diversion wards, as am I. He makes your wards sound almost infallible, but I know that nothing is perfect."

"I'm curious as well." However, in honesty, she hadn't had a moment to really investigate. "As far as my wards, they're strong, but I've never said they're perfect. With enough power and force, they'll fall too. As will the wards over your home."

"And yet you remain confident, despite the obvious threat against our lives? One that quite literally showed up at your home."

"As opposed to what? Living in fear? I refuse to do that." Hermione turned to look back towards her home. "I'll check the diversion wards to see what happened." When Malfoy said nothing in response, she looked back at him just in time to catch the breeze ruffling his hair, causing part of it to part from the rest. He didn't notice or she was sure he would have rushed to fix it, but the imperfection made him look slightly less severe. More natural. Approachable.

 _Handsome_ , a traitorous voice whispered that she pointedly ignored.

"How is Mathers?" Hermione asked in an attempt to silence and compartmentalise the word.

"Stable but sedated. Responding to the antidote well. Davies said that his mind…" Malfoy shook his head. The fact that Roger was on his case meant that he'd dropped everything to do so, which wasn't a good sign. "His memories are too fractured to extract. Even if he does recover, he'll be a shell of himself. They're just trying to make him comfortable at this point before reviving him." Which was tragic news. He looked so young.

But then Hermione remembered something. "The letter? What did it say?"

"Standard threats that they have been making for months: releasing the poison into the air."

Despite the fact that Malfoy made his entire statement seem like old news, it was new to _her_. The poison was deadly enough by touch alone. Once it made it into the bloodstream, it was hard to come back from. Seeping into someone's pores would make that happen quicker. The wider implications of such an attack would be astronomical. They wouldn't have enough antidotes to treat everyone. Choices would have to be made. It—

She would need to talk to someone about mass-producing the antidote instead of leaving it in the hands of the few staff members who knew how to make it.

It would take _months_ , but it could save so many lives.

"It also said something odd at the bottom. _Don't hide._ "

An icy chill shot up her spine and buried itself there for a few agonising moments before fading away. Gone but certainly not forgotten. She knew that message was personal and directed at her.

" _Oh_ …" It was the only thing Hermione could muster.

Her attempt at subtly must not have worked because Malfoy was now scrutinising her. She looked down at her shoes before focusing on the path ahead. Al's marker was getting closer. She felt his eyes on her long after she looked away, but that didn't stop it from rattling her nerves as they approached a topic that returned to her focus each full moon. One that was a little too personal to discuss with the sun in the sky.

"Was Mathers bitten?" Hermione chanced a glance at the man. Yes, he still _looked_ suspicious.

"Not during a full moon." He _sounded_ suspicious, too. "Potter said he would continue investigating the note. _Independently_."

Whether or not Malfoy knew it, his last word meant that very soon, Harry Potter would be around to discuss security options that she didn't want or need. There would be meaningful looks and Ginny as backup. But Hermione would be ready with the threat of a long talk about keeping secrets in the form of _biological warfare threats_.

To her surprise, Malfoy said nothing else on the topic.

When they passed Al's marker, Hermione ran her hand on the top of the flag. "Has Harry talked to you about setting up a playdate between your sons?"

There was a small hesitation in his step. "Is _that_ what he was trying to discuss with me yesterday?" His voice was dry, but there was a hint of amusement. "How interesting."

"Would you consider it?"

"I doubt my mother would have any opinion one way or another. She would encourage a friendship between the two. For strategic reasons, of course."

No further explanation was needed. Narcissa was always planning for the future, and Albus was a Potter. There was value in a name. Or so a woman like Narcissa Malfoy would think. A friendship between the pair—something Malfoy had failed at when given his only opportunity—would be a good look for the Malfoy family. It would afford Scorpius a certain protection he'd likely need in the event of trouble when he went to Hogwarts. Smart of her to allow an alliance, but Hermione found herself willing to look past all the machinations to what was truly important:

Two lonely children in desperate need of a friend.

"Would _you_ encourage it?" she asked the man who glanced over once the question was out, mouth forming a tight frown. "Scorpius—"

"Has never been around other children. Just us and the staff."

Hermione's heart hurt once again, the pain ragged and dull. "Why not?"

The question went unanswered, but she had an inkling that it had to do with security and threats and the reason behind the familiar scars on the back of Sachs' hand. Hermione understood but also didn't, not that she had the chance to utter anything before Malfoy cleared his throat.

"Did he—" A quick pause was taken to push past the reluctance that was displayed so openly on his face. Malfoy exhaled and tried again. "Did Scorpius ever come down yesterday?"

Hermione wondered how long that question had been on his mind. The way he forced it out meant that it had probably been there for a long time. Possibly longer than he'd been at her home.

"He watched you leave."

Malfoy said nothing, just looked away. There was a weariness to him in that moment, one that was both foreign and familiar to her. It echoed in the open space around them, hinting at more than exhaustion. A pain that was bone-deep and visceral.

Initially, Hermione was rendered speechless, but the need to fix everything overrode her good sense and she couldn't keep quiet. "You should try again. Maybe he—"

"Don't meddle, Granger," Malfoy snapped, but there wasn't much heat to it, just a firm resolve, a resigned sort of severity from someone so far outside their comfort zone that they were beginning to disengage. Slow down. Give up.

And while it wasn't her place, Hermione had been on both sides of their missed connection. The link between father and son. She had a grip on one end and found herself trying to grab the other before it drifted away, but Malfoy was too stubborn and trapped by his own self-reliance to grab hold. It might have been a fruitless effort, but Hermione couldn't watch a man drown without offering some aid.

Usually, she preferred action, but this time words would have to do.

"Don't give up on him." A swell of emotions caught her off guard. "You're all he has left."

Malfoy never said anything to her statement, remaining in what appeared to be thoughtful silence for the rest of the walk. But when they returned to her home, his first question made a tiny bloom of hope sprout where none had existed before.

" _When would this… playdate take place?"_

* * *

The ice wasn't completely broken, but they got to work anyway.

Malfoy put on his glasses, picked up the parchment with her questions, and scanned it more than once. Over the rim, he gave her a long stare, followed by a quick quirk of his brow that seemed unapologetically smug. And if the sequence briefly lit up the small portion of her awareness that registered _attraction_ , Hermione—well, it didn't matter. She killed the power to the entire section for the second time that day without a second's hesitation.

Because _no_.

"Where would you like to start?" he asked, voice low, entirely focused on his task.

Despite killing the lights, Hermione found herself blinking at him repeatedly until she recovered, looking away and down as she touched the side of her warm neck. Then back at the man across from her, who was flipping through the pages as if checking to be sure he'd brought them all.

No matter how many times she'd seen him in glasses, it still momentarily tripped her up—especially when he was _right there_. "Wherever you'd like." Distractedly, Hermione picked up her recorder. "Do you mind if I tape this?"

"I don't mind." Malfoy didn't look up, not even when she started the recorder and sat it on the table between them. "Your questions aren't in order, so I took the time to organise them chronologically."

Hermione's hand stalled mid-reach for her pen. "You did? That means you—"

Malfoy shot her a piercing look. "Looked at your questions? Obviously. You aren't the only person capable of higher thought, Granger."

"Of course not." She rolled her eyes with a scoff. "I'll be honest. I was expecting more attitude and less cooperation, as you've made it pretty explicit that you're not interested in being involved."

In an instant, his expression hardened. "I don't like owing anyone _anything_."

Well that settled that.

Hermione reminded herself about picking battles for the second time. "What number did you rearrange to be first?"

"Nineteen, coincidentally. Any known similar illnesses in her family history? The answer is complicated, and likely why _she_ didn't answer it." Malfoy folded his hands together on the table in a move that drew her attention first to his long, lean fingers, then to his left wrist…

There wasn't even a hint of the tattoo she knew was there from what she'd seen in Harry's office.

She frowned in confusion.

"Obviously my aunt…" Malfoy trailed off with a distasteful frown. If he stared any harder at the parchment, it would likely catch fire. She wanted to tell him that she'd moved on—had to because she wanted to live her life not haunted by the past and all the nightmares from it. Instead, Hermione cleared her throat, gesturing for him to continue. "I haven't found any other incidents of my mother's form of dementia on either side of her family."

_He'd looked?_

Judging from his expression, Hermione knew better than to ask. "Nothing similar?"

"Outside of outright insanity born from nature, nurture, or _Azkaban_? No." She made several notes as Malfoy continued on. "That question leads into the second. Number thirty-four, which further questions her family tree, as it pertains to intermarriages."

Hermione found the question after a brief scan. "I only asked due to a lot of pureblood tendencies towards inbreeding to remain unsullied. It's well-documented that the act can and _will_ affect future generations due to the lack of genetic variety, making them more susceptible to insanity and rare diseases—even those not commonly found in wizards, like your mother's."

"Ah. I'd deny it, but the House of Black's motto is _Toujours Pur_ , so take that as you will." Malfoy tilted his head, glancing at her before shrugging almost casually. "At the time, it wasn't uncommon, but some families took it to extremes, like the Gaunts. As far as the Blacks, I believe there are a few instances of second cousins marrying and having children, but nothing closer than that."

Hermione was surprised. Not by his words, but how candidly he spoke them. He was still a little detached, but she could acknowledge that they were beyond throwing accusations about the other's character.

It was… _progress._

Maybe her expression was a little too astonished for Malfoy because from one breath to the next, his tone changed from his version of normal to incredibly curt. "You asked for answers to fill in the gaps my mother wouldn't. I'm giving them. No need to look so _shocked_."

That earned him a dubious look. "Excuse me for being sceptical. You've refused to so much as discuss her condition _with her,_ yet now you're helping me freely with information it appears you've done research on. Favour or not, it makes no sense."

Thus far, getting any sort of information out of Malfoy had been like cleaning layers of paint off of an old table: she scraped tirelessly, but it would only come off only in little chips and flecks. Today, in several short minutes, she'd gotten more out of him than she had in all of their morning conversations combined.

It made no sense.

"I don't do anything in halves, Granger. Either I'm assisting as requested or I'm _not_." Apathy flowed off him in waves. "It's your choice."

 _He_ made no sense.

But she was intelligent enough to know when to draw and when to fold. She did the latter, but only after skimming her notes while under the weight of his gaze.

"So…" Hermione cleared her through lightly. "No creatures in the bloodline?"

Malfoy exhaled, something just above a whisper, and rolled his eyes with an attitude that cut through his normal stoic nature. "Just because I'm pale and have white-blond hair doesn't mean I have Veela blood. The same goes for my mother."

"She's the only blond of the Black sisters." Hermione shrugged. "The question is valid."

"True, but still utterly ludicrous."

Hermione would have laughed had he not looked so heated. "So, no Veela blood or instances of intermarriage. Genetically—"

" _All_ pureblood families are related in some capacity. Potter and I are cousins, in a way. Same goes for him and his wife, however distant. No one bats an eye beyond third cousins."

Frowning distastefully, she underlined intermarriage twice. "That's still disgusting."

"That's the pureblood way, at least, it used to be. It's a culture with traditions that are dying slowly as well, or so _I_ think." There was something cold in his tone that, despite the warmth of the room, made her inwardly shudder. "My mother has a different opinion, as you likely know."

Hermione did, in fact, know. "It's impossible that _every_ person in _every_ pureblood family is _actually_ a true pureblood. The signs of inbreeding would become obvious throughout the generations, whether through various deformities, infertility, or madness."

Malfoy agreed. "I know of other well respected families that aren't fanatical and have members that they acknowledge aren't completely pure in blood. I believe this is how things will become in the future. Distinguishing by name rather than blood purity."

"And you're okay with that?" Hermione only asked because of how he had been raised.

But it was the wrong question.

Malfoy levelled her with penetrating grey eyes, his response so low and deep she almost didn't hear him. "I'm not that boy anymore, Granger."

He sounded so honest that it made for a brief moment of discomfort for them both, but for two entirely different reasons: Malfoy seemed unsettled by his own honesty, Hermione was unsettled by _him_ as a whole.

Everything from his quiet confession to him drinking light tea that he didn't like—according to two people who knew him _far_ better than she did. From the way he didn't argue about her bringing food into his home to the way he silently familiarised himself with her world. _Admired it_ … however subtly.

Hermione was so baffled she felt like she _had_ to answer the questions about Malfoy that had been flying around in her brain. With attentive eyes, she observed the way his gaze dropped back to the parchment. He wasn't reading, only staring as he seemed to reset. Lower his iron gates. Raise his drawbridge.

However, before Malfoy could completely isolate himself in his fortress, in a voice just as quiet as his, Hermione asked him a question that had been burning inside of her for _weeks_ now.

"Who _are_ you?"

"I'm…" In the blink of an eye, he shut down and sealed himself off— _tight_. " _I_ am not your patient."

But it was natural for Hermione to push. Call her thirst for knowledge a character flaw that had gotten her into some sticky situations in the past, but that was who she was. And without a second thought, she began pushing, not thinking at all about the person she was trying to delve into.

She wouldn't go too far. Just a peek. A handful of dirt might have the answers she sought.

"I'm aware, but you pointed out who you weren't. I merely asked who you _were_."

"Tell me, Granger…" Malfoy's expression narrowed as he folded his hands on the table. Leaning forward just enough to make Hermione consider purchasing a larger table, his voice was low, equally as serious as the glint in his eyes. "Who do _you_ think I am?"

He was challenging her. "You're…"

She trailed off when he sat up straighter in his chair. Waiting. _Watching_. He was gearing up for a clash of words, a war he wanted to wage for whatever reason. Defensiveness? Maybe she had hit too close… but to what target? Hermione had no idea. There were so many subjects they'd spoken about. And while she didn't mind arguing with him on some things, this wasn't one of them. So, she took the high road.

 _Honesty_.

But she left him with something Kingsley once told her.

"You're human, Malfoy, so only _you_ get to decide who you are. Not me. Not _anyone_."

Several emotions flashed across his face like bolts of lightning cutting through a stormy sky. They were gone before Hermione could fully decipher them or even determine if his reaction had been positive, negative, or something in between.

Then his focus rested on her, the line of his jaw tight as he stared at her with such severe examination that Hermione felt her skin prickle under his attention.

But she didn't look away. Wouldn't. _Couldn't_.

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered what was going through his head. Too lost in her own thoughts, she didn't realise she had been holding her breath until it was over.

Then she exhaled it all in one go.

It was only then that Malfoy averted his eyes, turning his head towards her plants by the window, mouth pursing. "It's warm in here."

 _True_.

Judging from the bits of colour on his face and neck that she hadn't noticed before, he wasn't lying about the heat. Hermione preferred not to regulate the temperature in the conservatory with magic; it wasn't good for some of the plants. Heat was always trapped inside during the sunnier days like today, as few and far between as there were.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Ever the consummate hostess, Hermione didn't wait before leaving. Her exit was a little more abrupt than she'd planned, but she honestly didn't care. She needed the space. In a second unplanned move, before fixing two glasses of water, Hermione walked around her island three times to expend the restless energy that had settled into her bones.

Probably from working on a weekend.

That was it.

That was all it _could_ be.

When she returned with water, Malfoy had already rolled up one sleeve and was working on the other, which should have provided a visual of the tattoo that wasn't proper for him to even have.

But the canvas was blank.

 _Glamoured_ , Hermione reminded herself as she placed the glass in front of him and returned to her own chair. Malfoy thanked her the same way he did every morning when she placed a cup of tea in front of him. Composed, if a bit subdued. They drank in silence, but she noted the way he didn't drink his water until after she took a few sips of her own. When he finished, Malfoy adjusted his glasses and rested his joined hands on top of the parchment once more.

"Are you ready to continue? We have several questions left."

"Yes."

From there, Hermione learned more about Narcissa, namely through incidents. The first time Malfoy recalled his mother forgetting— _months_ before leaving Scorpius in the dress robes shop. She'd called him _Lucius_ several times before realising her mistake. That had been nearly two years before when they were still in France.

The timeline was worrisome. It made her wonder just how advanced the illness actually was. It would require more testing… and possibly a favour from Roger.

He owed her.

"No other incidents followed that for a year until she berated one of Astoria's Healers, accusing her of breaking into the house. That's when I knew there was something wrong, but she continued to ignore the issue."

"Is that when she went to see the first Healer?" Hermione recalled that was the one who had only recommended rest.

"Yes. By force."

From there, they continued on. Malfoy made short work of her list, noting the questions that overlapped and were repetitive, much to her annoyance.

At least until Hermione realised that he had a point.

Not that she ever would admit it aloud.

But it was forgivable because his responses had such detail in them that soon the focus of the interview shifted from the strict format of her forty-six questions to them just _talking_. Malfoy's deep voice had a certain… _cadence_ to it. Still a bit posh and proper, it had an edge that was all his own. But the rhythm was steady. Pleasant.

It wasn't horrible to listen to him.

Unconsciously, Hermione found herself writing less, then she gave up altogether and laid her pen down to strictly listen. It was fine, her recorder would pick up anything she missed while she watched _him_.

With his black attire and temperament that seemed to slide up and down an invisible scale Hermione couldn't read, Draco Malfoy was such an interesting contrast in her well-lit and colourful room. Visually, he had a backdrop of light from a sun that was in the perfect position to cast a warm glow over him, making him look like darkness bathing in light.

It was difficult not to stare.

Impossible not to notice.

"In case you haven't noticed, Granger, my mother likes to be in control of every aspect of her life, which stems from a period of time when she wasn't. She struggles with transitions."

A family trait, but Hermione kept those words to herself, only nodding while watching him.

During Hogwarts, Malfoy used to speak with bold and aggressive gestures. But time—and perhaps life and his mother—had curtailed the habit—m _ostly._ Every now and then he would use his hands to emphasise his words, but not often.

"I've noticed, but I haven't sorted how to make her understand that she needs to scale back."

He briefly glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room he seemed periodically bemused with. "Society occupies her mind. It gives her purpose. She was active when we lived in France. As a warning, due to the change in season, I doubt you'll get much cooperation from her until her event."

That was interesting.

Not the last bit about her cooperation, but the former.

From what Hermione knew, they hadn't returned to London until Astoria's condition worsened to the point where everyone knew and accepted that the inevitable was upon them. "I was under the impression that her motivation to participate in society had less to do entertaining herself and more to do with maintaining your family's name in important social circles and networking to find you a new wife."

Malfoy gave her a dark look. " _It was_."

A twinge settled in her chest.

She took a sip of water and changed the subject. The topic was too raw and the reality of the situation too harsh. "I've only observed her at one event. Has she had any incidents of forgetfulness that you've noticed when she's extremely busy or stressed?"

"A few."

"Could you recount those incidents for me with as much detail as you remember?"

As it turned out, he could.

It wasn't only that Malfoy was observant and analytical of the surrounding world. The way in which he picked things apart from the smallest detail—well, _that_ was no surprise. She'd already seen him in action and experienced it for herself.

However, the penetrating knowledge of his mother and the level with which he remembered details? Now _that_ had been impressive in a way that seemed impossible for him to be apathetic.

Strained relationship, notwithstanding, Malfoy _knew_ too much not to care. He'd been watching for too long to be a casual, uninterested observer. She'd seen the way he looked when Narcissa had forgotten about the intruder, but whenever she so much as turned a soft eye towards the situation, he would lock himself inside his castle with such a severe expression that Hermione knew she had to go around, because climbing those high walls wasn't a possibility.

Not without experience or the proper tools.

She had neither.

"Were there any changes in her incidents once moving back to London?"

"Yes, but there were several factors that could have played a role…"

As she listened to his hypotheses, Hermione found that she liked that Malfoy didn't speak in monosyllables—and hadn't in some time. It had made her job infinitely easier and gave her a lot to think about. There were still things he hesitated on or got defensive about, still questions he answered with a certain level of reluctance.

But he answered them nonetheless.

They had two left when Hermione heard her phone ringing. Pushing away from the table, she excused herself with a polite grimace.

"Sorry, it's probably my mother." She was the only person Hermione knew who used the Muggle telephone.

Not that she was in the mood to talk to her after dinner last night, but in the spirit of being a good daughter, Hermione did just that, leaving Malfoy in the conservatory to answer the phone.

As it turned out, it wasn't her mother, but her father. And he had taken on a new role in their odd family dynamic: _mediator_. The position was natural for him, given his nature, but not one he had to assume regularly as Hermione had done her very best to avoid arguments with her mother.

"You should come over later for tea. Your mother will be out."

It was a trap. Her dad wasn't a ritual tea drinker. "I'm meeting with a patient's son right now."

"But it's Saturday. You never work on the weekend…"

"Couldn't be helped," she said dismissively with a flourish of her hand, despite the obvious fact that he couldn't see her.

There was a pause. "Are you okay?"

Because she knew what he was really asking, Hermione responded automatically. "I'm eating, drinking, _and_ sleeping normally. _Promise_."

"Okay then, but—"

"I'll be busy later. Another time?"

Her father exhaled, which meant only one thing: he was about to speak his mind as opposed to executing his fake tea idea. "Hermione, I don't always agree with her tactics, but your mother means well. She worries and… so do I."

With a long sigh, Hermione shifted her weight and rubbed her temple with her free hand, closing her eyes. It was probably the most she'd heard him say in one conversation in _years_. Progress, but only after conflict.

"Ron isn't the answer to your worries."

"Never said he was." She almost dropped the phone in shock, only _just_ managing to hold on to listen. "Don't get me wrong, I like him. He's a good bloke, but it's clear he's not a fit. I try to stay out of it, as it's none of my business, but your mum—"

Hermione chuckled bitterly. "Has decided to make it hers. Right."

Her father heaved a sigh. "Your mother has a tendency to blend ingredients together without accounting for taste, smell, or consistency—sometimes it works, but most of the time it doesn't. They say you have to try a new food ten times before your taste buds can decide whether they really like the food or not, but I say don't keep forcing yourself to eat something that you _know_ isn't palatable because you might miss out on finding something that is."

For a moment, Hermione was left speechless as her heart thudded in her chest. There was only word that spilled from her, one full of all the emotions she hoped she could convey through the phone.

" _Dad_ …"

And for the first time, he seemed to understand what she was trying to say. He cleared his throat, but he still sounded choked up. "You'll find something that works for you. I know you will."

When she hung up, Hermione sat on the sofa for several minutes with her head in her hands, nearly forgetting about Malfoy in the conservatory. She concentrated on blinking back tears from the swell of emotions brought forth by her father's words. It took just a few more minutes before she got up and relished in the feeling, the connection, and continued on. But now, the canyon between them didn't feel so wide or daunting.

After a series of cleansing breaths, Hermione refocused as she opened the door to the conservatory—only to find a briefcase in the chair where Malfoy had once been. The man himself was standing in front of her indoor potted garden. His back was facing her but his hands were behind him, as they had been when he'd explored her brewing room. Thoughts about the conversation with her dad took a step backwards as her curiosity stepped into its place.

_What was he looking at?_

Her feet moved accordingly, carrying her to the spot next to him, footsteps loud enough to alert him to her presence but quiet enough not to disturb whatever he was doing. Not that it mattered. Malfoy didn't react when she entered his territory, nor when she stepped into the space next to him.

A little too close, but it was too late.

She was already there.

The answer to her question was both what she'd expected and not: Malfoy was just… _looking_. Not touching anything, he was careful with his appraisal of her plants, just as he had been with everything else in her home. In truth, Hermione wasn't surprised. He'd been looking in that direction off and on for quite some time.

Interest had finally got the better of him.

She knew the feeling.

"How does a gardener have a dying cactus?" He cut his eyes to the prickly little thing still on the table next to her ottoman.

"Because it's not dead," Hermione told him firmly. "It just needs care."

"Ah, a project." His drawl was so deep that it sounded like it came up from the earth itself. "You _still_ have those. Still a champion for the defenceless and lost causes."

"There's no such thing as a lost cause, at least not in my mind. If you care enough to try, anything is possible. Little things like time, patience, and attention can make a big impact."

He said nothing, turning his attention to _her_. Malfoy examined her as if he were trying to figure something out. A riddle. A question. It was a look she had seen before. He seemed to want in her head, but without Legilimency. Unsettling as it was, Hermione held his gaze, eyes narrowed with resolve, until he turned away.

Moved to the next plant.

Changed the subject.

"You might as well take a butcher knife to your plants with how you prune."

Slightly rattled from his assessment of her, Hermione accidentally snorted at his snippy comment in a move that eased the tension she hadn't realised she'd been holding in her neck and shoulders until it was gone.

First Narcissa, now her son. Apparently everyone wanted to criticise her pruning.

"You're an expert then?" She rolled her eyes. "Is that a Malfoy family trait?"

Once again, grey eyes cut over to hers, but there wasn't derision in his glare. Just weight. "My mother showed me how as a child in the Manor's garden. We still have a greenhouse with rarities hidden under blood wards."

Well, _that_ was fascinating.

Malfoy reached out to touch the branch of her umbrella tree that nearly hung in his face. His thumb scraped the rough edges where she'd pruned only last week. "You could use a softer touch…"

"Is that so?"

He let go of the branch, moving on to a different pot she'd placed directly in front of the window. Unlike in her brewing room, that time Hermione went with him, not wanting him in contact with anything he had no business touching. Judging from the questioning tilt of his head, it was a plant he hadn't seen before in a pot nearly the circumference of the table. The leaves were thick, healthy, and a vibrant green. Open.

"Mimosa Pudica, commonly known as _Touch Me Not_ ," Hermione informed him. "I use it in a balm for Luna whenever she's travelling. She has a tendency to end up in poison oak or ivy." She fondly shook her head. "Though, the name implies otherwise, you _can_ touch it, if you'd like."

For several moments, Malfoy didn't move. But then his hand came from behind him, tentatively moving towards the plant, one finger leading the way.

He was hesitant and careful, but he wasn't doing it right.

Without thinking, Hermione stopped him by resting her right hand on top of his. Malfoy tensed. But she ignored his reaction and continued on, shifting her stance and guiding him. Her free hand rested lightly on his back as she urged him forward. His skin was warm, maybe from the room. She was surprised to find that his hand felt rougher than it looked, fingers curiously scarred on the tips with light marks that were ready to fade away.

"It's sensitive," she said in a voice that was low and soft, but confidential as she guided his finger up the spine of the plant. They both watched leaves fold together just from his touch. "If you touch it wrong, they'll close up too early. Ruins the effect."

The small hairs on the back of Hermione's hand and arm stood on end when she peered up at his face. Only… he wasn't watching the demonstration. He was watching _her_ with another one of his unreadable expressions that made her feel as if he were trying to peer into the very core of her being.

It all came together slowly but in a rush that was as contradictory as the man beside her.

Their position.

Her hand covering his.

The other on his back.

The way he'd tensed.

Hermione all but threw his hand back at him, stepping away several paces. Her cheeks were warm with embarrassment.

"Um." She ran a flustered hand over her hair as she turned, heading towards the table. "We have a few questions left. If you're ready."

Malfoy said nothing for a long moment. "I'm ready when you are, Granger."

When she glanced over her shoulder, Hermione expected to see derision and disgust all over his stoic yet stern face, but she found something completely different.

A sight that should have been private.

Malfoy glanced at the hand she'd touched. Nothing strange there, but then he flexed it before making a tight fist. The muscles in his forearm bulged and rippled, shaking under some strain. Then he relaxed, stared out the window for several seconds, and returned to the table, moving with ease that belied the tension she still felt.

By the time he sat down, Malfoy had returned to his default neutral state.

She knew he was inside his fortress, its walls high and strong…

Except for the smallest crack.

_There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in._  
**Leonard Cohen**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Holidays to all who celebrate. This chapter got away from me in edits, but hello 80% Dramione interaction. Thanks to my beta dreamsofdramione (who also makes all my banner like the BAMF she is). This chapter. Loads to unpack, information, tinny details, little Scorpius/Hermione moment that had me in my feelings. As for Draco and Hermione, I wanted to show their shifting dynamic, that she's wearing him down bit by bit but this chapter is a nice step forward. I wanted to display how sometimes she's right and sometimes he is, also more of that delicious tension and building of attraction (already there but growing). Anywho. I had plans for a New Years post, but it's likely I'll be social distance visiting family all day (prob all week) and yelling will be done if I'm tethered to my laptop. Then on Saturday, I'll be on the road 12hrs back home. With that being said, I'll be back to my regular posting schedule on Jan 8th. Happy New Year!


	13. Shape of Your Heart

**Thirteen  
** _Shape of Your Heart_

_**June 1, 2011  
  
** _

On the scale between chaos and cleanliness, Hermione hovered somewhere in the middle. Chaos looked like Harry's office while Andromeda's house was cleanliness personified.

Almost disturbingly so.

Hermione didn't trust anything too clean… _except_ Andromeda. The irony wasn't lost on her, just ignored. She had always made _certain_ never to find herself in the other woman's home— _for anything._

That wasn't an easy task. Andromeda picked the most inopportune times to request Hermione's presence. They were close because of Teddy and Harry, but her seizure had shifted their relationship. Not in a maternal way, but they had struck up an unusual friendship and met after bad therapy sessions to wait out their dark moods together. And though those days were few and far between now, Andromeda had remained a constant presence in Hermione's life, inviting her over to her disturbingly clean home to catch up.

But Hermione had a system to avoid surprises, she always made sure to invite _her_ over first. Not _too_ often or Andromeda would realise what she was doing. But not too infrequently either, or she might find a summons on her Magi-Scheduler. To maintain the delicate balance, Hermione equated the visit intervals to roughly every twelve weeks.

Unfortunately, she'd been too busy to notice the lapse in time, and when the invitation appeared after another unproductive day with Narcissa, who was in party planning mode, Hermione was flummoxed.

 _Certainly_ it wasn't time.

But Hermione thought back and realised she hadn't seen Andromeda since Easter. That meant it was actually _past_ time. When Hermione tried to strategically move the meeting to reschedule it at a different location, the event wouldn't move or vanish.

The pesky note was as stubborn as Andromeda.

That was how Hermione found herself sitting at the table watching Andromeda make tea in a kitchen so clean it actually _sparkled_. She would have offered to help, but they'd had enough arguments for Hermione to know her role as a guest.

Which meant she was to sit and do nothing.

Andromeda placed a steaming teacup in front of Hermione before joining her with her own. The tea was fruity, sweet, and light—she never let it steep for too long. A bit bland for Hermione, but exactly how Andromeda preferred hers.

"Are you staying for dinner? I can make Aubergine Parmigiana with everything you brought over from your greenhouse."

Despite her internal cringe at simply existing amongst this level of cleanliness, the prospect of dinner piqued her interest. Andromeda was a _far_ better cook than she was. "I can be coaxed into staying."

Andromeda's smile was only a quick flash, but genuine nonetheless. Hermione saw it all the same and wondered if her summoning wasn't just for a check-in. The house remained clean without Teddy's chaos, but it was also quiet, which didn't always equal peace.

"I'll get started on that after we finish tea. How are you?"

"A bit tired, actually," Hermione confessed. "You?"

The clear parallel to her sister was not missed. In fact, when she analysed it, despite Andromeda's features being similar to Bellatrix's, minus the colour of her hair, now that Hermione was familiar with Narcissa, she could pick out their similarities. Nothing overt, just subtle expressions she recognised from Narcissa—guarded but openly aware of it.

"I have my days. I'm glad for the company." Andromeda sipped her tea with the elegance and equanimity borne from breeding. "Are you sleeping and eating like you should?"

Well… _that_ was a difficult question to answer. Hermione's eating schedule was normal, thanks to meal preparations for Narcissa, but her sleep schedule had yet to recover from weeks of early morning incidents. Even on the weekends, she would find herself awake before dawn and asleep after midnight, tossing and turning most of the night. She hadn't slipped back into insomnia, but the signs were there.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Mostly." Andromeda squinted, which made her grimace into her teacup before sighing. She should have known honesty was always her best bet. "I'm eating just fine, but sleeping…"

Andromeda patiently locked her hands on the table.

"I know." Hermione shook her head. "I've just been incredibly busy."

"Don't lose sight of your progress."

"I won't."

Silence fell between them for a few moments.

"Is it work keeping you busy or are you seeing someone?" There was a twine of hope in Andromeda's eyes. When Hermione made a face, the other woman looked unimpressed. " _Do_ try not to look so offended at the idea."

"I'm not." She took a sip and replaced her teacup on the white saucer. "But I recently had back-to-back arguments with my mother and Ron about our relationship revival and I'm pretty exhausted by the topic."

"Ah." Andromeda's cringe was delicate, and gone before Hermione could blink. "I imagine that went… _well_."

"Splendid." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Neither one is talking to me, but I won't apologise for standing up for myself. They'll have to get over it. Ron will, I think. My mother…" That was a different matter and she found herself up during the night scrubbing her mind of any lingering guilt.

"Your mother will either realise that you know what's best for yourself and come around or she won't." Andromeda sat back, her eyes fixed on Hermione. "I know you want to repair your relationship with your parents, but you've hyper-fixated on the wound for years and kept it bandaged so long that it's slowed the healing process. If you keep picking at it, if you keep _protecting_ it, it will never heal. Let it breathe."

_But what if it didn't heal? What then?_

That small fear had grown as time passed after her talk with her father, pushing its way to the front of her brain. Hermione had more than enough wounds. They were all stitched up to the point where it was hard to remember that they hadn't always been there. _So, what was one more?_ She could take the pain. It would hurt until she could no longer feel it. And then… Hermione's head throbbed and her mouth went dry despite the tea she'd just drank.

"You worry too much about things you can't control, while simultaneously knowing that you have no control." Andromeda's statement lifted the short silence. "It's an endless circle that feeds on itself. Like a snake eating its own tail."

"People say that the ouroboros is a symbol of the cyclical nature of the universe: creation from destruction, life out of death. A metaphor for a person's ongoing struggle within themselves, their weaknesses and vices."

"All I see is a snake that's going to suffocate if it doesn't stop." Andromeda shrugged.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I haven't figured out how to let go."

"Let someone help." She gave her a look reminiscent of Narcissa during their first and last chat in her vegetable garden. "You're very good at giving, not so much at taking." And that wasn't the first time those words had been spoken to her, but the woman remained as she always was: patient and watchful. "It's not a lesson you can learn with words. Only the experience of being forced to let go." There was a pause where Andromeda took a sip, a look of open approval on her face. "What is this blend? I quite like it."

Only then did Hermione realise she'd brought the blend made specifically for Narcissa.

She almost changed the subject—Andromeda always knew when she was being lied to—but there was a small jolt when she thought back to that morning in the garden, back to each moment Narcissa accidentally called her or Sachs by her sister's name.

In order to shake the previous uncomfortable topic off, Hermione was willing to create a different one that wasn't focused on her. Besides, to squander a perfect educational opportunity would be criminal.

"It's a blend I made especially for my patient."

Tension pulsed from Andromeda like sound waves from a tuning fork. It was all Hermione needed to shake off all thoughts of her mother and shift her focus to a tiny nugget of realisation.

Harry had been talking to her.

Likely not much knowing Harry. He wasn't bound by a contract but had enough good sense to keep himself out of business that wasn't his. Like Narcissa's illness. It wasn't something Hermione had even considered discussing with Andromeda; she'd even mentally deemed it a topic to avoid. But now that she had unwittingly walked into it, she had to be incredibly careful.

There were so many factors, and navigating each was like walking a tightrope without training, a safety net, or a pole to help her balance. She stepped out on pure instinct, hoping to ease her way into the discussion, but Andromeda was almost as direct as the nephew she'd never met.

"I know my sister is your patient. I've known for a few weeks now."

"I wasn't hiding it." Hermione tapped her fingernail on the wood. "What did Harry tell you?"

"What makes you assume it was Harry? It could have been Theo."

Hermione gave her an expression that perfectly communicated just how little sense her statement made. She had met Theo exactly once, and that had been _early_ in the days of Hermione's unrequited crush when she'd invited him to Teddy's tenth birthday party and had been shocked when he'd actually turned up with a gift in hand. The entire interaction had been memorable because Andromeda took one look at the man who was regarding _her_ with a curious tilt of his head, and uttered one word that summed up her opinion of him as a romantic prospect:

_No._

Andromeda examined her nails nonchalantly like her mistake hadn't mattered. "Or Daphne."

The two were friends, bound by a life choice that cut them off from their families, but Hermione knew Daphne. She and Astoria weren't estranged because the latter refused to cut her sister off, but with Astoria's disease and death, she would never divulge anything without careful consideration and consulting Hermione over pie.

"So, when did Harry tell you?"

Andromeda stared at her before relenting with a sigh. "When you took her on as a patient. He didn't tell me much else, even though I know he knows more."

"There's not much I can say due to the confidentiality agreement."

"Interesting." The witch's eyes narrowed slightly before she exhaled a puff of air, seemingly bemused by the extra steps her sister had taken to protect her privacy.

Hermione took a cautious second step. "Would you ask if I _could_ speak on why she's my patient?"

"I already asked Harry, but his response made it clear he didn't want to say the wrong thing."

"Oh? What _did_ he say?"

" _I don't want to say the wrong thing._ "

They both laughed because that was typical of Harry, but when they fell silent, Hermione pressed forward. A third step.

"From what I understand you're estranged."

"We are, but the word doesn't encompass the enormity of being burned off the Black family tapestry. It's like I don't exist, like she doesn't have a sister." Andromeda looked down. "Like I'm nothing to her. All because I dared to be different while she wanted to be the same." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "And yet…" Andromeda trailed off, appearing to descend into her own thoughts as she finished her tea.

"And yet…"

"It's complicated." Andromeda knew, much like Hermione, that family always was. "She might hate me, but I don't wish her ill. I don't know why she's your patient, but I hope it's not serious."

Hermione did everything to smother her initial reaction."Why would she hate you? Last I recall, she invited you to tea at Grimmauld Place. You didn't turn up."

"I got dressed to go." Andromeda looked away. "Went to the Floo and even picked up the powder, but I just couldn't say the words to leave. I kept thinking about our last argument and I just…"

 _Couldn't_.

Hermione could relate. After her release from St Mungo's, that was how her first attempts at meeting her parents had gone. Overthinking had been the result of leaving pieces of her past broken and uncorrected, like a sea of hesitation she kept drowning in, and was _still_ drowning in—even now. Andromeda was no different.

"What was it about? If you don't mind asking…"

"She begged me not to go." Andromeda fiddled with her teacup. "Begged me to stay and marry my intended."

"Who was it?"

"Lucius."

Hermione froze, trying to process her shock without it seeping into her expression. "Oh."

In an uncharacteristic move, raw emotion strained Andromeda's features as she repeatedly ran her hands through her hair. She stood up, looking at the kitchen as if searching for something to clean to keep herself occupied. But there was nothing.

"I was in love with Ted and…" Andromeda trailed off, her back facing Hermione, who watched with unchecked curiosity. "Bella was already married so Narcissa had to take my place to avoid public shame and the heavy monetary and magical penalties that would have resulted from a broken Malfoy marriage contract. My family was rich, but the Malfoys were richer _and_ more ruthless. I knew what I was doing to them all when I left, but…"

The look on her face told Hermione that despite the pain of losing her entire family—not once, but _twice_ —she would do it all over again.

"I don't know who Narcissa is now, but when we were young, she was the opposite of Bella. As golden as her hair, she was beautiful, untouchable, but not weak or docile as many expected. She was never one to forgive easily." Andromeda wrapped her arms across her middle, glancing over her shoulder at Hermione. "Her invitation for tea felt like a trap."

"Why would it be?"

"The war had been over for over a decade and not once had she bothered to reach out before."

"Have you?" Communication was a two-way street, after all. "Reached out, I mean?"

"I saw her once." Andromeda seemed to be struggling with her words. "She was coming out of a tailor shop last November, right around the time Daphne's sister died. But when I called her name, she looked as if she had no idea who I was." The pain in her voice was unmistakable. "I think I knew right then that Narcissa was gone for good…"

Hermione thought back to Pansy's story about Narcissa leaving Scorpius all alone, and wished she'd never asked. The story was a reminder that knowledge bore fruit.

And sometimes that fruit was _pain_.

* * *

_**June 3, 2011** _

  
The atmosphere in the office was tense, but not hostile.

Harry and Malfoy weren't in that historical loop that kept creating intense animosity between them, but they were by no means friendly. Their exchanges were snippy at best and terse at worst, but they weren't actively fighting. She figured it was their way to maintain the status quo while actively ignoring their attitudes towards each other. They'd evolved. _Grown._ It was both pleasing and odd to witness them in action, working together despite the fact that they both were on edge and fractious.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. It was nice that they both _finally_ recognised that.

From her spot at the head of the table, Hermione's attentive eyes swept between the two men, steady as a tuning beacon. She observed, _waited_ , but not once did she speak. Even though she was there to play mediator, it was clear that her words weren't necessary.

Malfoy fiddled with his signet ring before cutting Harry's speech off by simply raising his hand.

"This isn't going to work."

Harry crossed his arms. "Only because you don't want it to."

"No, it simply won't work."

For what seemed like the hundredth time that hour, Harry ran his hand through his hair. "What do you suggest then, Malfoy?" His tone wasn't rude, just matter-of-fact. Tired. They both were, though Harry displayed his, as he did with most of his emotions. It could easily have been interpreted as frustration, and likely had been by Malfoy, but Hermione knew her best friend better. As for Malfoy, his signs were more subtle: a slight grimace and fidgeting.

"Cancel the raid." Malfoy tapped his fingers against the table. "But leave the mole in to scout for a second opportunity."

_Play it safe._

It wasn't something either wanted. They had come too far and trained too hard to cancel their one shot.

Harry scrubbed his face. "We won't get a chance like this again."

"Perhaps not, but strategy won't do us any good if there are _more_ Death Eaters in attendance than anticipated. Instead of two to one odds, we'll be fighting five to one."

Something he _clearly_ was not keen on.

"We could always fight _with_ them. Add to our numbers."

"That would be a strategic nightmare." Hermione couldn't help but intervene. "You're both recognisable and therefore a distraction— _not_ the good kind. Besides, should anything go wrong, they'll retaliate against you both directly because they know how to target you."

_Their families._

Malfoy looked grim, and Harry cringed, but neither argued. However, that didn't stop Harry from expressing his opinion."I don't like sitting on the sidelines."

"Always the hero." Malfoy rolled his eyes, absently adjusting the cuff on his right hand. "P—"

" _This plan_ ," Hermione cut him, which earned her a scowl. She _almost_ flashed a humourless grin in return. The one with too many teeth that scared Harry. However, restraint was employed to save time. "It calls for a direct attack. With the secret passage confirmed and the ward specialist to take down the blood wards, you'll have the element of surprise to make up for your lack of numbers." Hermione gestured to the blueprint. "The plan never called for you both to fight. In fact, it's not wise for either of you to be seen at all." _Malfoy especially,_ but she left that out. "You've been training the Aurors and Task Force team for weeks. Let them complete the mission. Let them end this. Keep it clean. No added variables."

Harry didn't look happy about it, but sighed because he knew she was right.

Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed smug.

"Any comments, Malfoy?"

Grey eyes shifted to hers, his expression levelling out. "Not at the present moment."

A slight jolt accompanied his words, but with a glance at her watch, Hermione shook it off and backed away from the table, summoning her beaded bag from the chair with an outstretched hand.

"Very well then. I have to go prepare lunch." Speaking of lunch, she reached into her bottomless bag and pulled out Harry's, handing it to him. "Roast beef sandwich, crisps, and fruit." Then she approached Malfoy and held out an identical bag that he accepted with a curious expression. Harry tilted his head like a confused puppy while Malfoy stared at the package in his hand. "It's lunch."

"I gathered."

Hermione watched at the man who regarded her with an arched eyebrow but remained silent. "I figured since I brought Harry lunch, then—"

"It's not necessary." Malfoy glanced over her head, frowning at Harry before returning his gaze to her and lowering his voice so their audience couldn't hear. "I had breakfast."

That she knew. She'd made it for him, as she had been for the last week or so, not that he'd accepted the containers. This morning had marked only the second one Malfoy had taken it with him. Getting him to accept anything required more effort than making the meal itself.

Hermione lowered her voice, too. "Have you eaten since?"

"No, but—"

"Then keep it. I had extra."

She excused herself, pointedly ignoring the pair of green eyes that followed her out. After all, she was going to be late.

For Hermione, punctuality was as important as preparedness and hard work. Being late showed a lack of consideration and respect for someone's time, and she wasn't one to tolerate something like that.

Not from _anyone_.

Narcissa, on the other hand, was late for lunch.

Her presence had been subpar at best since the invasion of her planning team for the season-ending soiree she was hosting. The event was next weekend, but the Monday after their first gardening session had marked the escalation of planning commitments. Narcissa had little time for anything including morning gardening, reviewing Scorpius' lessons, and Hermione's daily check-ups.

But not everyone was as upset about Narcissa's absence.

Malfoy didn't appear to care, given the way he pointedly rolled his eyes whenever Hermione mentioned his mother by name during their morning conversations. Evidently, this behaviour was normal whenever Narcissa was in party planning mode. As long as his mother stopped pestering him about bringing a date, Malfoy didn't care where she went. Catherine seemed to share his sentiment, though she never expressed it directly. At least not to Hermione.

Hermione had only just noticed that she didn't seem as frazzled.

And how did she know?

Because Catherine—and by extension, Scorpius—had been joining her for lunch everyday.

It had started the Monday after Malfoy's visit when Narcissa stood her up.

She had made lunch and it would have been a shame to waste it, so Hermione wandered up to the library to extend the invitation. The tutor had declined, but Catherine had accepted after taking a look at Scorpius who had perked up. The meal had been such an enjoyable affair that whenever Narcissa failed to attend lunch, they all ate together instead.

As soon as she'd finished preparing the meal, precisely at quarter after one, Scorpius arrived.

He was almost always first, likely because his tutor was typically tied up preparing for afternoon lessons while Catherine coordinated Scorpius' evening plans with Zippy.

He entered the room properly, but Hermione could tell he was eager to claim his seat next to her before anyone else could.

The same place he sat every day.

Well, except that one time Catherine had come to lunch before him and taken his spot. How she had remained oblivious to the _literal fire_ shooting from childish blue eyes, Hermione still had no idea. Scorpius hadn't been graced with the art of discretion. His vow of silence had made him harder to communicate with, but when he actually displayed his feelings, they were _loud_.

It was actually rather hilarious.

"Hi there."

Scorpius waved and stood behind the chair next to her, _his chair,_ looking ever so serious until he peered over at her. Day by day, Hermione was learning the meaning behind each of his expressions. Not just the basic emotions he showed, those were easy enough to interpret, but the more difficult ones. Like pride and shame. There was a hint of the former etched in his features that made her smother a fond smile into her fist.

He took off his blazer and hung it on the back of the chair.

"Did you wash your hands?" Hermione asked, but she already knew the answer.

Scorpius nodded as he patted his pockets, and she knew exactly what he was checking for: the notes from his father.

It wasn't her place to figure out how to bring them together, but she thought about it. _Often_.

Each morning, no matter how long Malfoy lingered, Hermione would watch Scorpius peek around the corner to watch his father leave. He didn't engage, just waved to the empty space. And each day, she wanted to alert Malfoy to his presence, but there _had_ to be a reason why he ducked back around the corner whenever he caught her looking.

Ideas plagued her in the quiet moments while gardening or reading. No matter what way she dissected her thoughts, Hermione didn't know what to make of it all. But the _need_ to understand the reason for Scorpius' avoidance and Malfoy's distance hummed in her veins like adrenaline.

The scraping of the chair distracted Hermione. She turned her attention to the little boy as he took the seat next to her, curiously looking at his food while waiting for his nanny to arrive so they could start eating. Scorpius sat with his back straight and had an air about him that was too stoic for a child. Hermione knew what was next on his list. Soon, he would tuck his napkin in his collar to protect his shirt from stains and wait.

But today was different.

Today was the day Scorpius surprised _her_ by deviating from his aforementioned routine.

After quickly glancing at her watch, Hermione turned to ask him how his day was going only to find Scorpius extending his napkin out to _her_.

His eyes were wide and hopeful. He didn't need her help, he just _wanted_ it.

Stunned speechless, Hermione took so long to respond that the light in his eyes dimmed, fading as disappointment began to take its place. Hermione recovered with a soft shake of her head as she presented her open hand and accepted the napkin. She turned his chair towards her with a bit of wandless magic that clearly fascinated him, and noted the adorable way his feet dangled.

"You'll have to tilt your head up."

Tentatively, Scorpius tried to do as instructed while watching her, but was unable to do both.

In the end, he lifted his head.

 _Trust_ was a word that passed through her mind as she made quick work of tucking the napkin into his collar and smoothing it over his shirt.

"All done."

Hermione turned his chair back to face the table, but his eyes remained on her. He blinked and set his little jaw. Had she missed something? Scorpius had a tendency to try and clue her in when she didn't have all the pieces of what he was trying to communicate by leaning just a fraction towards her, his eyes trying to prod her into understanding until… ah, she got it.

He was trying to thank her.

"You're welcome," she told him.

Then he deviated even _further_ from his routine by _smiling_.

It wasn't a smile like Al would give her—wide, bright, and unrestrained, showing every one of his little teeth. No, Scorpius' was soft and subdued, but so _earnest_ it warmed her heart for so many reasons she lost count. Mainly because it was the first time he'd smiled in her presence and it honoured Hermione to witness it. She was grateful he trusted her.

And even stranger, Hermione had the almost overwhelming wish to see him smile again. More often.

Every day, if possible.

The cherry on the top of the entire experience was the fact that Hermione learned from one smile that Scorpius had the most _adorable_ set of dimples. She couldn't help but smile back, couldn't keep the endearment at bay, or the emotions from spilling out. How could she when that was the _core_ of what she felt? When her heart was so unexpectedly full from a simple action?

Scorpius reached for her napkin, handing it to her with an expectant look that she understood clearly. Hermione tucked the napkin into her shirt.

Now they matched.

The little boy was so pleased he _actually_ grinned. It was crooked and contagious and _priceless_.

But then he covered it with his hands.

"You don't have to hide how you feel." Hermione gently uncovered his smile, though it faded as he listened to her, growing more serious. "It's _okay_ to smile if you're happy." Hers waned too when a small lump formed in her throat. It was then that she realised she hadn't let his hands go, that she didn't want to, but Hermione did her best to swallow the swell of sentiment that had taken her by surprise…

And she let go.

They both heard Catherine's footsteps approaching.

Whatever smile was left immediately died, and she quietly mourned its loss. By the time his nanny entered the kitchen with an aura of friendliness, Scorpius was back to his default: not smiling or frowning, just blank, composed.

Which was fine.

Now she knew the potential was there.

"Sorry that took so long, Zippy is leaving for his next house and wanted me to make sure he did a good job with Narcissa's curtains." Catherine took the seat across from her charge. "Next time, I'll be sure not to leave him for too long."

Scorpius awkwardly looked down and Hermione bristled at her comment, but kept her response light and clear. "He is _excellent_ company." Blue eyes met hers slowly and the smile she offered was earnest and kind.

Hermione shifted her chair closer and initiated lunch. Today's meal was chicken salad sandwiches for the adults and a cheese toastie cut into squares for Scorpius. She'd also made him a small fruit salad with a drizzle of honey on top. After placing today's herb on the table, she watched him examine it closely as he ate his fruit.

"It's sage." Hermione told him as he ran his finger over the leaf. "Feels nice?"

Scorpius nodded then sniffed it, not minding the scent.

"I use it to cook and in potions. Monday I'll show you what it looks like dried."

His face lit up with curiosity, which made Catherine chuckle. Honestly, she'd almost forgotten the other woman was there. No matter. Scorpius looked rather pleased by the prospect and that was what mattered.

The meal itself brought about a problem when Scorpius went to pick up his cheese toasties.

"Mind your manners," Catherine hadn't even looked over at him.

Scorpius froze before examining the cutlery and picking up a fork and dull knife. The sight was patently ridiculous to Hermione, who rested her hand on the back of his chair in an absent motion that drew Scorpius' attention. Blinking with wide-eyed, childlike innocence, Scorpius waited for instruction.

It always struck her how obedient he was. He was only five, yet it had already been ingrained in him to listen without questioning. It wasn't bad, never would she encourage anything that would put him in danger, but what about creativity? What about expression? What about the fact that he was a _child_?

Those were important things, and because Scorpius didn't speak, every manner of expression was _vital_.

Yet every adult in his life seemed to want to smother that out of him—save his father, whose only defence was that he was hardly ever _around_. In truth, Hermione couldn't pin down Malfoy enough to know if his absence was a benefit or a detriment, but what did it matter? Rules and guidelines were going to turn Scorpius hard and brittle. And there were already signs of the shift, signs that the little boy who had dimpled at her, held on to her cardigan almost every morning, and looked almost as interested in the plant of the day as he was in his father's letters, was already on his way down a path that would turn him cold.

It was heartbreaking in a way that snuck up on her, and kept coming back as a reminder with every little thing he did. It just… just…

Made her _angry_.

Feeling herself get worked up in defense of Scorpius made Hermione take a few cleansing breaths. Not that it stopped her from speaking her mind, but it smoothed out her tone. How exactly was he supposed to eat an already cut cheese toastie if he wasn't allowed to pick it up with his hands?

On second thought, she gestured to the sandwich in Catherine's hands. "Aren't you eating with your hands?"

The nanny blushed. "I suppose I am."

After a little reassurance and gentle prodding from Hermione, Scorpius put down his cutlery and picked up his toastie, awkwardly biting into it. Instantly, his eyes lit up from the taste of butter, toasted bread, and cheese.

"Is it good?"

He nodded enthusiastically, which made Catherine's eyes widen in surprise. The little boy must have felt her gaze because he immediately closed back up and continued eating.

Hermione frowned.

Scorpius stared at his nanny for a long time until she noticed. "It's in the door."

The little boy lowered his head in a bow before easing out the chair and walking towards the refrigerator.

Hermione frowned. She made a mental note that he must not like milk.

"I never knew he was interested in plants. How did you figure that out?"

Her instinctive answer was that _she paid attention_ , but she figured her delivery might be too abrupt. "Lucky guess."

"Maybe I can use that to keep him motivated during lessons."

Before she could state her strong opinion on the matter, Scorpius returned and presented _Hermione_ with a juice box. She grinned. "Thank you. Where's yours?"

Which sent him back to the refrigerator.

"He likes you." His nanny nodded in his direction. "I've been working with him for the last six months and I've never seen him take to anyone so well or… _at all,_ if I'm being honest." Catherine sounded mystified, even chuckling to herself. "He's obedient, but rebellious in some ways. I usually have to coax him into… well, _everything_. Eventually, he'll do it, but there are a lot of long looks."

"I'd probably rebel too if I were his age with that degree of structure in my life."

"It's what his grandmother wants." There was something hidden in Catherine's tone that indicated Hermione wasn't the only one who disagreed with Narcissa's rigidity. "His father has approached me once or twice about adding certain activities to his schedule, but Mrs Malfoy said that he's too young. I deferred to her. The Malfoys are traditional, and the matriarch tends to the children."

She waited a respectable number of seconds before asking, "What did his father want to add?"

"Quidditch."

"Did he have an instructor in mind?"

"No, but it was peculiar…" Catherine shook her head, humoured by the thought. "He said he would teach Scorpius _himself_."

Well, that wasn't strange.

It was just something a father _should_ do.

The rest of lunch passed quickly. Scorpius ate the centre of his cheese toasties, leaving the crust neatly on his plate. Catherine chattered the entire meal, while Hermione went through the motions and asked just enough to keep her talking—not interested but also not wanting to be impolite. The younger witch talked about her parents, who lived in Boston, her studies at Ilvermorny, and what brought her to England.

"There aren't enough American wizarding families looking for tutoring nannies." She glanced at Scorpius, who had fished a letter from his father out of his pocket and was staring at it as if he were on the verge of a breakthrough. Catherine continued on as if he weren't listening; Hermione knew he was, even though he probably didn't completely understand. "Word got out that there was an opening. I had just moved to London and had no idea who they were, which I suspect is why I was hired."

Hermione perked up in interest. "Who hired you?"

"Mrs Malfoy, but she was reluctant as she believes I'm not old enough to teach him proper customs, etiquette, and languages—despite my experience." Catherine didn't look amused. "I speak _four_ languages. I was at the top of my year. I know all about etiquette, European pureblood customs, and I came with _references_. My last family only let me go because their youngest went off to school."

"Ah," Hermione intoned with a nod. "So, if Narcissa didn't think you were old enough, how did you get the job?"

"I was the only one with a background Mr Malfoy approved of. And his search was extensive. I had to provide _so_ many documents."

Well, Malfoy was _quite_ rigorous about security.

"I understand though. I was briefed about… everything when I was hired on." Catherine looked at her charge with a bit of endearment she hardly ever showed. Mainly because she was too busy expressing her frustration. "At the time, I thought the extensive background search was ridiculous, but it makes sense now."

Hermione tried not to sound as interested as she truly was. "Oh, how?"

The witch was poised to answer when she glanced at her watch. "Excuse me for a moment. I need to check and see if Mr Graves has returned from lunch." Catherine was gone before Hermione could say anything else.

She turned to Scorpius, who was studying his father's note with such single-minded focus that it was equally as adorable as it was impressive. It was fascinating watching him his face work through a series of different expressions as his mouth moved to silently sound out the letters. Using his fingers, he traced the letters on the scrap of parchment. Hermione made out two letters:

C - H

It didn't take much to grab his attention.

"You know," she began carefully, figuring out each word as it formed. "I think your dad would like to give you this himself." Scorpius tensed then looked down. Hermione turned in her chair, knees facing him. She dipped her head down to look him in the eye. "It's okay."

A thought struck her. A theory. It _couldn't_ be right, given how he seemed to wind up sleeping in Malfoy's office. But perhaps—well, there was a difference between being in the presence of something you want versus actually reaching for it.

"Are you scared?"

Scorpius blinked several times as if he were trying to sort through his own feelings. The consternation made him look older. It made her think of Albus when he talked about his struggles at school. His shrug wasn't so much one as it was him awkwardly pressing his ear to his shoulder. His cheeks turned red. Maybe that wasn't it.

"Are you nervous to say hi?" The little boy seemed confused by the word so Hermione tried something else. "Do you want to see your dad?" There was no hesitation in his nod, but there was a pinched expression of frustration that she knew too well. "Do you… feel like you _can't_? Is that why you hide until he leaves?"

He paused, looking down at the note in his hand.

The small nod was every bit as hard to witness as it was for him to express, judging from his small cues and the way he squirmed in his seat _._

"It's okay to be nervous." Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's also okay to ask for help in whatever way makes you feel better."

Scorpius was staring again, then his eyes moved when she extended a hand.

He accepted it a little quicker than before.

"I'll tell you the same thing I tell Albus." He looked confused and she realised she'd not yet mentioned Al to him. "Albus is my godson, but sometimes I call him Al. He's five, like you. He wants so badly to meet you." Hermione smiled. "Yes, _you_."

The little boy still seemed mystified.

"He's just like you. Sometimes he gets scared and nervous around big things, but do you want to know what I tell him?" Scorpius nodded, adjusting his grip on her hand but not letting go. "I tell him what I once read to him in a book. _You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think._ "

Squeezing her hand tighter, he stared at his father's letter.

It didn't matter, she wouldn't let go until he was ready.

"I can read that for you."

Scorpius held the note to his chest. Protective. As if he thought she were going to take it away.

"It's _your_ note, Scorpius. And it's also _your_ choice." Hermione meant that. "I won't take that from you. I just wanted to try and read it to you so you know what it says."

After another solid minute of deliberation, he handed it to her with slow hesitation. Accepting it graciously, Hermione shifted her chair closer so they could look at it together. Hermione opened her mouth to read, but it instantly went dry when she deciphered it. It was…

Personal.

Private.

 _Genuine_.

Hermione couldn't read it out loud. _Wouldn't_. But Scorpius was looking at her with eager blue eyes and gods, she _had_ volunteered.

"It says—" Hermione cleared her throat of another lump and read a father's written words of devotion. " _You're the best choice I've ever made."_

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when she heard the tell-tale signs of Narcissa returning home. She was doing work that would have been more comfortable in the confines of her own office, but she had not wanted to miss speaking to her patient.

Narcissa strolled into the kitchen dressed in long, floral robes and flanked by assistants—all of whom were carrying several bags. She began giving them instructions on where they could set up, what they needed to do, and asked if anyone remembered the sample clothes for the tables. Hermione waited patiently to be noticed while reading and making notes as it pertained to the questions she had for the various professionals she was meeting with during the next couple of weeks.

It went on for minutes until Hermione pointedly cleared her throat.

Narcissa's steps stuttered on the wood, but she recovered with the grace she naturally possessed, schooled her features into something haughty yet defensive, and approached.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione continued writing, her face as blank as the walls in their impersonal living room. "Mrs Malfoy."

"My apologies for missing lunch today. I had several appointments that unfortunately—"

" _Week_." Hermione turned to the next blank page, and the sound of pen scratching against parchment resumed.

"Excuse me?"

"You've missed the last _week._ Not only meals, but gardening sessions that _you_ agreed to attend as well." Finally, Hermione raised sharp eyes to the witch as she sat primly on the two-seater sofa with her legs folded and her hands laced on her knee. There was such an aristocratic air about her that it made Hermione sit up straighter, but she had learned Narcissa a little better since April and she now knew what this particular attitude meant. It was a role she portrayed whenever she intended to stand high on her moral ground, ready to justify her actions. "I've committed to giving you _my_ time."

"And you _have_ —I have never felt better than I do right now."

"That's not the point. Your condition is centred around deterioration, which is inevitable. I can't do my job without your cooperation. We're only a few weeks from getting you stabilised and—"

"Miss Granger, this soirée—"

"Is it more important than your life?"

"Now _you_ are being dramatic, Miss Granger. The event is next Friday. After that, I will resume your treatment schedule. I will be on my _very_ best behaviour."

Until the next end of season event or anything she valued above her health. Hermione could feel her careful control slipping, and with the audience around them, she made a split-second decision to cast a wandless Muffliato. Narcissa arched an eyebrow in response.

"That's _not_ what we agreed on."

"Miss Granger, there are several aspects of your care that we didn't agree on—"

"Oh? Like what? Because I have sacrificed a lot of time and we're less than two months in and you're already breaking the rules. You're already not taking this seriously, Narcissa. Something I find ironic because you spent so much money trying to gain time."

"I assure you I very much _am_ taking this seriously."

"Are you? Because it's important right now to stay on top of this, to follow the plan I've created as we learn your disease, but your complete focus is on planning a _party_."

Narcissa recoiled at the demeaning tone in her voice. "It is not _just_ a party, Miss Granger. I was chosen for this event, which is an honour that _you_ wouldn't understand."

"That argument is officially _retired_. It's not about what I understand, this is about your _health_. This event—"

"Correction: this _incredibly important_ event." She crossed her legs, looking more like a business woman and less like a society witch. "This event will help me reach the goals I sought more time to accomplish. There will be very important wizarding families from all over Europe in attendance. More importantly, I am staking my reputation on its success. I dare say I might find a wife for my son at this event, or at the very least review the credentials and meet each witch seeking to arrange a marriage date with him. I would like for him to _choose_ —"

Her snort—impolite and incredulous—had come out of nowhere, loud enough for Narcissa to take notice. Previously, whenever she'd brought up her intent to contract Malfoy's second marriage, Hermione had never so much as _breathed_ a response, keeping her face clear of the judgment she felt in her _spirit_. She told herself it wasn't her business and that was that.

In fact, she hardly gave it a thought at _all_.

Except when she did…

There were so many pieces to his puzzle (especially as it pertained to Scorpius), but having interacted with Malfoy quite regularly—well, her comment had sparked to life the self-righteous part of Hermione's brain that _wanted_ to say _something_. The sensation, the _urge_ to speak in his defence, crawled up her throat like an army of ants.

But like any bug, she smacked it away.

Or _panicked_ while slapping at it repeatedly and shaking her clothes to make sure there were no more ants left marching on her skin.

 _Semantics_.

"My assignment _isn't_ to care about your parties or marriage dates for your son." Hermione exhaled and refocused. "My _job_ is to preserve your mind as long as possible, and to provide the best palliative and transitional care I can."

"I am aware of our contract."

"I've worked _countless_ hours since I started, learning and trying to understand your disease and what to expect so that I can prepare you, myself, and _your family_ , who happen to be the reason you sought my care in the first place. But _you_ have neglected your duties on all levels."

"This is why I have hired Catherine and Mr Graves to keep Scorpius on track with his lessons while I tend to other important matters."

"You're missing my point. I've given up a significant amount of time that I could have been utilised helping others who _need_ it and are more than willing to make sacrifices you refuse to. I've compromised with you on your exercise preferences. I've allowed you into my home and my garden—something I've _never_ done before. I have even relented on your participation in the season, when I know perfectly well that stress can exacerbate the dementia we _still_ know little about. I have been performing my duties as your Healer, going above and beyond to regularly seek advice from the Healer you rejected, but _you_ haven't been performing your duties as my patient."

Narcissa's face was tight, her jaw working as if she were holding back. "Say no more, Miss Granger. I understand perfectly." Placidly, she folded her arms across her chest. "Would you prefer if I stepped back from society."

"I'm not saying that just yet."

She bristled. "But you will soon."

"As you worsen, yes, but you haven't and I'm trying my best to be understanding. I understand you have other priorities and goals that you want to accomplish before you have to step back, but I have expectations that you will follow our plan. I can tolerate most things, but I _despise_ being stood up as it wastes what little time I do have. It shows that you don't value my time as much as you value your own, so when it boils down to it, _that_ is my problem."

Narcissa brought her hand to her necklace. "That was not my intention."

"But that's what has been happening." Hermione gathered her belongings and summoned her beaded bag from the table, catching it firmly with her left hand. She then stood, preparing to leave and end the Muffliato, but Narcissa's next words stopped her.

"I do have one final thing to discuss."

Her hackles rose, as they often did whenever a conversation took a sharp turn. "And that is?"

"Your conversations with my son."

She paused, unable to shake the defensiveness that sent her shoulders creeping up to meet her ears. "What about them?"

Narcissa stood, dusting invisible lint off her robes. "I'm going to make the assumption that you're the reason he mentioned therapy for Scorpius when there's _nothing_ wrong with—"

Hermione scoffed, and when Narcissa's entire expression darkened, she folded her arms. "I have a _long_ list of reasons that make that statement factually incorrect, but all I will say is that there is something most definitely _wrong_ when a child is crying for his dead mother in his _sleep—_ "

A trace of surprise flashed across her face, but stoic composure won out.

That was fine. Hermione had everything she needed.

Narcissa had no idea.

Malfoy had never told his mother.

"Finite Incantatem. Have a good weekend, Narcissa." She bit the inside of her jaw to stop herself from saying anything else. Not yet. Not today.

* * *

_**June 5, 2011** _

  
Pansy was beautifully dressed in an off the shoulder magenta dress. Decorated with sequins and beads, the bottom was trimmed with loose, lace edges. She was ready for a night out.

On a Sunday.

She also needed a favour, which didn't bode well for Hermione's afternoon plans to deliver her monthly donation of Wolfsbane, Dreamless Sleep, Enhanced Calming Draughts, and various other antidotes and salves. "What is it?"

"I'm already late, but we're having dinner with Draco for his birthday. I arranged for a caterer to make a cake for him, but someone on their staff got Spattergroit and they cancelled. I know you cook things and since I now have no cake—"

"You want me… to make _Malfoy_ a birthday cake?"

" _Yes_." Pansy blinked as if it were obvious. "You're the only person I know who can _bake_ edible food."

"Ginny can bake."

"I went to ask her first, but there were two angry kids hugging it out in the living room, I'll let you guess which." Likely Lily and James. "I backed out slowly."

They both winced, but then Hermione laughed. _Hug it out_ had always been Ginny's preferred avenue of conflict resolution. Despite their almost four year age difference, the eldest and youngest of the Potter clan fought all the time. Al, on the other hand, tended to shy away from their drama. He had no interest in it.

"So, will you?"

Scratched her head, Hermione didn't even try to hide her unease with the request. "I don't know what sort of cake Malfoy likes." Outside of his true tea preference, she knew little about his predilections.

But Pansy was persistent when it came to getting her way. "A birthday cake, Granger, do keep up. Draco likes anything lemon and pretends he doesn't have a sweet tooth anymore, but absolutely _does_." That was all the advice Pansy gave before she glanced at her watch and winced. "I've got to pick up his gift, rip him from working on his translations, and meet everyone in an hour."

"Will Scorpius be in attendance?"

The edgy expression on Pansy's face clearly indicated they would revisit that topic later when they both had time and a lot of wine. _Good_ , Hermione was ready.

"Adults only. I know Narcissa tried to do something for his birthday yesterday, but she's all but given up. Draco will attend our birthday events, but he typically spends the day alone. It's his way."

It sounded lonely in the same way that underfed people felt even more hungry when they saw others eat. Hermione hugged herself at the thought and the words he'd written on a scrap of parchment for his son.

She shook it off.

"How did you convince Malfoy to allow you all to host a birthday dinner?"

"I threatened." Pansy shrugged. "It worked."

That was _one_ way of doing it.

"You'll make the cake then?" Pansy looked so hopeful—the expression was odd coming from someone who glared considerably more often than she smiled.

" _Fine_."

Pansy squealed in excitement.

"But you owe me."

"I'm _already_ renovating your bath!"

"I'm _paying_ you."

"Details." After checking her watch again and swearing loudly, Pansy left with a soft pop.

To her empty house, Hermione gave a well-earned sigh before heading in the direction of her office where she stored all of her cooking books.

_Lemon. Sweet-tooth. Cake. What else did she know?_

He'd spent years in France and she noticed that he tended to veer towards—

A short while later Hermione closed the cookbook she'd been flipping through in favour of one she'd purchased a few years ago on basic French baking.

It was a good enough place to start.

After washing her hands, Hermione put on her apron, put her hair up into a bun, and got to work.

First stop was the greenhouse.

Pansy had asked for a birthday cake, but Hermione had something else in mind. Picking several freshly ripened lemons off of her small tree, she ventured back into her home to pull out the other lemons from the refrigerator before boiling half of them in water for fresh lemon juice.

Following the directions, Hermione prepared a crust for a lemon tart.

_Flour. Powdered sugar. Salt. Cold butter. Egg. Vanilla extract._

Before long, she was turning the dough on her lightly floured countertop until it was a ball. After wrapping it up in clingfilm, she put it up to chill and turned to her next task.

For another thirty minutes, Hermione worked on the lemon curd. The directions had made it seem far easier than it actually was, which sent her scouring through all of her French dessert books for tips to fix something that was too tart. She ended up figuring it out with a small experiment that worked and found herself back on track just in time to finish making the curd, which turned out far nicer than any she had ever made before.

When Hermione poured the curd into its crust and placed it into the cooker, she made raspberry Chantilly—ripe raspberries, sugar, vanilla extract, and cream—and a small batch of lemon biscuits for Malfoy to hopefully share with Scorpius.

It was worth a shot.

Hermione packed the Chantilly in a separate container, some fresh mint to garnish, and then dusted powdered sugar on the lemon tart. It was too soon for the powdered sugar, but three hours had passed since Pansy had left and she was officially late.

They would surely be back at Pansy's any moment following their meal out, but that didn't stop her from waiting until the biscuits were finished. She used the only bit of cooking magic she knew to rapidly cool them to the perfect temperature so she could wrap them up along with the other desserts. Rushing, Hermione didn't even bother to take off her apron before stepping into the Floo and calling for Pansy's flat.

Which was empty.

A relief.

Pansy had already properly set the circular table for five, along with cutlery and serving knives. Hermione placed the lemon tart in the centre of the table on the stand, found a nice dish for the raspberry Chantilly, and laid a sprig of mint on each plate for the garnish. She sighed with relief, tucked a flyaway behind her ear, and prepared a note with serving directions.

Hermione was leaving said note on the counter when the Pansy popped into the room.

Followed by Malfoy, who looked every bit as confused as Hermione was shocked by their sudden appearance. He was arm in arm with the heavily pregnant Daphne, who winced upon landing.

"Consider that my _last_ side-along until I have this—" Daphne noticed Hermione and greeted her with a broad smile. "Look, Draco! Hermione's here."

"I see."

Nothing more was said, but Hermione found herself watching the strange scene unfold in front of her. Daphne allowed the ever-stoic Malfoy to help her into a seat at the table. His expression gave nothing away—his movements were stiff and there was a grimace on his face—but Hermione noted how careful he was with Daphne, how he'd kept a firm hand on her back to keep her steady.

But why was she surprised?

Daphne was pregnant.

He wasn't a _barbarian_.

Behaviour at Hogwarts aside, proper manners and etiquette had been ingrained in him—just as his speech patterns had been. But still, there was something noteworthy about how, even after she was seated and pushed in, Malfoy waited until she was absolutely settled before shifting his gaze back to Hermione. His mouth was pressed into a tight line as if he were waiting for her to say something.

But for once, she had nothing to say.

Hermione nodded in the direction of the Floo. "I was just—"

 _Leaving_.

"Staying, of course…" Pansy said from where she stood at the counter, Hermione's note in hand with a smirk on her face. Grey eyes slid away from her to Pansy before one brow lifted in a query that the witch ignored like it was her job. "You don't mind, right Draco?"

"I was only here to deliver the lemon tart." She took one step backwards. "I—"

"I don't mind." His words were quiet and clipped, but they cut through the near silence of the room.

Hermione shut her mouth with an audible click, held her breath, and then uttered a quiet, " _Oh_ , but I don't want to intrude." It didn't matter that she knew them all, and was friendly with each in one way or another, they were still Malfoy's friends. And today was his birthday. That he never celebrated. She _really_ shouldn't be there. "I was going home to—"

"Come _on_." Daphne appeared vastly amused.

Pansy followed her statement with a flippant, "Stop being—well, _you_."

Before she could argue her point further, Pansy ushered her to the seat next to Malfoy that he held out politely with his normal air of stoicism. Hermione meant to argue that she didn't need him to do anything for her, but his hard expression made the words dry in her throat. She sat down. Then jolted when Malfoy pushed her chair closer to the table and returned to his seat to her left. Pansy took the seat to her right.

Theo appeared in the room, nodding in Hermione's direction in greeting like he half-expected for her to be there. "Granger."

She managed a small wave. It was… _bizarre_ , but also _Theo_.

"Did you bring the candles?" Pansy asked Daphne.

"I thought you did."

" _No_ , you said…"

When they finished squabbling like Hermione's chickens, Pansy got up with a huff to search her kitchen drawers for candles. Theo, with an almost fond roll of his eyes, took the final open seat next to Daphne, who was squirmier than usual. She'd already shifted in her chair several times, unable to find a comfortable position. He asked if she was all right, and she nodded.

"I've had this cramp for about a week now. No worries."

"Anything I can do?"

"If you could make my baby stop stomping on my internal organs, that would be fantastic."

"Uh." There had only been a handful of times Hermione had seen Theo truly speechless, and this was one of them. Having nothing else to say or add, he awkwardly moved on while Daphne laughed at him. Not that he heard or paid much attention. He was too busy surveying his surroundings like a king would a newly conquered territory. Once he reconciled Hermione's presence, everything else was as it should be.

Except Malfoy.

She knew how to interpret the meaning in Theo's subtleties after studying him for years, and didn't feel so woefully out of her element as she watched the exchange between the two men.

At least one half of the equation made sense. _In a way_.

Hermione internally grimaced. Theo still had his quirks and mysteries, things about him that perplexed her, but she had never put forth the energy required to figure those out.

The other half of the equation? Well… _he_ made about as much sense as the instructions to brew _Felix Felicis_.

Figuring Malfoy out would require more than just strength of character and the ability to scale high walls. Subtlety and a journey back in time would be ideal to figure out how he had become the person he was… _whoever he was_.

Hermione—while admittedly curious even before the note _or_ the talk in her conservatory—was still trying to weigh her options about expending the frustrating energy it would take.

What were her reasons for wanting to scale the walls of his fortress?

Malfoy was odd and difficult, contradictory in the way he talked and behaved. He was nothing like the boy she once knew: the bully, the bigot. Yet despite his defensiveness and intricacies, there was something far more genuine than posturing about the adult version of Draco Malfoy.

_But why was she so curious?_

What did she hope to gain by educating herself on him?

What was she looking for?

And better yet, what was her probability of success?

_Not very high._

Theo's eyes suddenly flashed like he'd taken notice of something he found worthy of a second glance. "Your favourite, right Draco?" He gestured to the lemon tart.

The questions in Hermione's head scattered like ash in the wind. Dispersed and forgotten. Diluted, but still present, if unnoticed. Because _what?_

Malfoy's face was so blank that, with his pale skin and black suit, he almost seemed lifeless. Next to Theo, recognition bloomed on Daphne's face. "Oh, right, this _is_ your favourite! How did you know, Hermione?"

"I didn't." Hermione awkwardly patted the bun on the top of her head while looking everywhere except at the wizard sitting next to her.

"Ah, well…" Daphne shifted in her seat again. "Nice guess."

Blessedly, before things got any more uncomfortable, Pansy arrived with candles, placing one in the centre of the lemon tart. When she threatened to sing, Malfoy cut her down with a glare so sharp it would have drawn blood had her skin not been so thick. But she spared him a song and settled for letting him blow out the lonely candle. He extinguished it with nothing more than an irritated sigh.

As hostess, Pansy took care of cutting the lemon tart into pieces and placing them on each plate. With magic, of course.

Seconds after Daphne and Theo started in on their tart, the Floo roared to life. Blaise arrived _alone,_ as Padma had to work. Because he wasn't the sort that could let the elephant in the room go unmentioned, his dark eyes scanned the scene with obvious interest.

"Ah." Blaise smirked. "A lion amongst the snakes."

It was such a nauseatingly cliched statement that it made them all respond in various ways: Daphne threatened to throw her tart at his head then changed her mind, Pansy cursed, Theo raised an eyebrow, and Malfoy… Well, he smothered a chuckle in his fist. Hermione rolled her eyes with humour, feeling like she could because he'd lightened the heavy mood of the room.

Blaise had an unmatched way of melting into any group and easing tensions.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Pansy dramatically rolled her eyes. "You're late."

"Had an important Floo call with the wedding planner to confirm our guest list." He made a face. "Couldn't be helped. Padma told me to go when the call went on too long. Is that lemon tart?"

"Granger made it." Pansy summoned a spare plate from the kitchen and cut him a piece of tart.

He paused. "I trust your cooking." _That_ spoke volumes as he _barely_ trusted Padma's.

"Now, where am I going to sit?"

That made Hermione feel even _more_ like an intruder.

The table had been set for five and couldn't be spelled any larger due to the lack of space. She should have left. Six people made it a tight enough fit for her to murmur an apology to Malfoy when she scooted into his space for Pansy to add a chair for Blaise. She wasn't touching him, but it was still too close for comfort.

_Everything was._

"Mind your hand, Draco." Pansy chided gently when she saw him scoot his chair slightly away from Hermione.

"It's fine." His response was low and gruff and came a beat too quick.

"What happened to your hand?" Hermione asked curiously

Before Malfoy could answer—or _not,_ knowing him—twin aggravated huffs came from Daphne and Pansy, but it was the former who responded.

"He got hurt during a training exercise Friday and _refuses_ to see a Healer—"

"Not to mention, he's _overusing_ it with all his translation work that I had to _yank_ him from in order to make it to dinner on time."

"Are you fucking _serious_?" Daphne leaned forward as much as she could with her pregnant belly and the table as a barrier. Those obstacles didn't stop her from glaring daggers at the man who was practically scowling at Pansy. "Draco!"

"It's his birthday, for Merlin's sake." Blaise came to the rescue. "Stop _nagging_ him."

"Fine, we'll resume tomorrow." Pansy looked rather proud of herself. "Daphne?"

"Absolutely."

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Suddenly hell on Earth sounds appealing."

Everyone laughed and Hermione glanced at him in time to see him card his right hand through his hair. She went to reach for her drink, but there was none there. Hmm.

Everyone resumed eating and chatting, but Hermione went back to feeling uncomfortable as she waited…

Unlike every other person at the table, Malfoy hadn't so much as picked up his fork. Blaise settled between Daphne and Pansy, complimented the lemon tart, and that was the end of that.

Soon, the atmosphere began shifting. _Changing_. Daphne helped herself to a second piece while Theo listened in on their conversation, only speaking when absolutely necessary, as he was wont to do anyway. His tart was half-eaten, which made sense—he wasn't one for sweets to begin with.

Malfoy _still_ hadn't tried it, and while everyone else seemed to approve, for the simple fact that it was his birthday, Hermione wanted to know what he thought. If he liked it. Finally, likely when he thought no one was paying attention, Malfoy forked a piece of it and examined it as though he were a food critic.

"You'll never know that you don't like it unless you try it." Hermione would have never received confirmation that he'd heard her had his shoulders not stiffened; had he not cut his eyes at her.

"And why do you assume that I won't?"

"Because you seem hesitant."

"I'm not hesitant, I'm just not hungry." Malfoy placed his fork on the plate. "I had no idea they were planning dessert." He didn't seem happy about anything. The surprised look, his overall sour lack of amusement, and the daggers he all but slung at Theo—

Ah, now it all made sense.

Malfoy _did not_ like surprises.

And as someone who also _hated_ being put on the spot, she could relate.

"You haven't tried it either." He pointed to her still untouched slice.

"I had no plans to even make this today, so…" Hermione trailed off with a single roll of her shoulder. "I guess we were both in for a surprise."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing else before picking up his fork that still held the piece he had been examining. She didn't expect him to eat it, but he surprised her. If she read his fleeting expression correctly, he almost seemed to enjoy it. Then he took a second bite. And a third.

Absently, Hermione's eyes strayed to his mouth, watching the way he chewed, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. When his eyes swung to hers again, one brow rising sharply in curious bewilderment, Hermione thought there was no better time than the present to try the lemon tart.

And, well…

She tasted it enough to know one thing.

"It's a bit tart."

"The name implies that it _should_ be." Malfoy placed his fork down with a soft clink.

Hermione chuckled before she could stop herself. "True."

She took another bite, really taking her time with it. Tasting it. Bizarrely, she remembered while chewing that this was his favourite dessert. She wondered why. The consistency wasn't perfect. Perhaps, had she been given more time and had she not been pressed to use magic to help it settle, it could be quite good. Issues aside, it was an acquired taste—sweet and flavourful with a bite that wasn't bitter enough to make her grimace but still strong enough to assert itself.

"Why lemon tart?" It was a leading question, but she asked it anyway, not quite certain where she was going with it or how far _he_ would go in his response.

"Why does anyone like anything, Granger? Not everything has a deep meaning or symbolic significance. Sometimes, it's a matter of preference and taste."

Malfoy's response confirmed Hermione's previous hypothesis regarding the privacy provided by the intentional mystery he shrouded himself in. Even though she knew this, there was a tiny sliver of her that wondered if he was _genuine_.

"It's an odd predilection." Hermione tried it again, but with the raspberry Chantilly. It provided a sweet balance which significantly improved the taste.

"Probably, but it's mine."

It wasn't said with the normal brusque tone she was used to. Still dry and cool, but perhaps that was who he was. It sounded like a matter of _pride_. No matter how simple, his preference for tart foods was a little piece of _something_ that was just his—something he didn't have to hide.

"I made lemon biscuits for Scorpius, too." She hadn't even remembered until that very moment.

Malfoy went cold and blank, tension rising in him for some reason she internally scrambled to figure out.

"First breakfast, then lunch, now this? Why?" His question was accompanied by a glare that would have melted steel, and was intended to intimidate.

It didn't work.

"I wanted to." Hermione's response was direct as she bore into him with a stare of her own. "No need to treat an act of kindness like a declaration of war. They're just _biscuits_ , Malfoy. You can take them and try to enjoy them with your son or leave them and I'll give them to Harry's kids. I don't care which you decide to do." Then she recalled her conversation with Pansy and Daphne, and the hints that Catherine had given. "You're more than welcome to test them, if you'd like. Or I could try them first, if that makes you more comfortable."

Malfoy said nothing as several long moments stretched taut. Hermione turned in an attempt to join the conversation the others were having about Portkey applications for international travel for Blaise and Padma's wedding. Pansy had apparently already turned hers into the Ministry.

Tension continued to roll off Malfoy in waves that crashed against her due to proximity, but before she could react or brace herself, the storm passed on. The dark clouds over his head cleared. The waters calmed—as much as they could, given who he was.

And then, something unexpected happened.

Malfoy tapped his finger on the table just long enough to draw her eyes to the action— _and_ the bit of colour peeking from under the cuff of his suit jacket. In a voice low enough for her ears only, he asked a question that derailed everything.

"Do you think he'll like them?"

Hermione abruptly turned. There were several reasons she found his question odd, but a small sliver of that had to do with how _earnest_ he sounded. Honest. Like his note. Like he _really_ wanted to know. But her overall confusion, the reason behind her sharp recoil was simple:

_He didn't know?_

"H—" She tried not to trip on her words, but failed. She cleared her throat. "As a rule, children generally like sweets. Now, whether he prefers lemon biscuits to another kind, I'm not sure. You would know that better than me."

Daphne gasped and looked down sharply. "I think my water just broke."

Everyone froze…

And then dessert descended into chaos.

* * *

The entire scramble to St Mungo's was anti-climatic at best.

Pansy had run off to track down Dean, who was finishing up at work at Gringotts—somewhere deep underground in a vault. That would take time.

Theo had gone ahead to start the registration process. Blaise had stayed behind to make Floo Calls to their mutual friends with news.

As a Healer, despite the fact that she was no doula, Hermione had been the natural choice to escort Daphne to the hospital. Out of them all, she likely had the most experience with giving support during childbirth as she had been in the room when James was born after Harry had fainted. However, the labouring witch had surprised them all when she'd asked _Malfoy_ to come with them.

For moral support.

Though appearing vastly uncomfortable with the idea, he'd agreed because he wasn't stupid enough to argue with a woman in labour.

While questionable at best, it didn't take long for Hermione to realise that—until Pansy returned with Dean—Malfoy was a good option. He was calm during check-in, kept her balanced when they walked to keep her comfortable, and unflappable when she squeezed his hands through each contraction.

Three hours later, in a private room with a Mediwitch doula, Daphne was _still_ squeezing Malfoy's left hand—the hurt one—hard enough for Hermione to wonder if she would _actually_ break his bones.

If she hadn't already.

She had heard his knuckles painfully crack several times.

"Where _is_ he?" Daphne looked at the door anxiously.

"He'll be here soon." Hermione dabbed her brow. "We can't worry about that now. Need you to focus."

" _Six_ centimetres." The Mediwitch announced, re-emerging from under the sheet. "You're doing beautifully, Mrs Thomas. In a few hours, you'll be set to—"

"Did you say _hours_?" Daphne sat up from her reclined position as best as she could, Hermione ended up giving her the last little boost she needed while Malfoy helped her adjust.

"I did." The witch smiled brightly, but it slowly washed out like a canvas in the rain at the almost dangerous look on her face. "We can do potions, something to ease the pain, but not too much because it will dull your senses and you need them to push."

Daphne consented with a small nod and together, she and Malfoy worked to get her comfortable before the next contraction. He was patient—with _her_ at least, if the increasingly irritated looks he was giving the too happy Mediwitch gave anything away about his current mood.

And he also double checked the potions, going so far as to sniff each of them before Daphne growled, surged up, and snatched it out of his hand, guzzling them down one after the other.

"Now's _not_ the time for your paranoia."

Hermione agreed.

_Silently._

Malfoy rubbed his temple and exhaled sharply, seeming to reset. It was something he appeared to do for a myriad of reasons, Hermione recognised.

A glance at the watch on his wrist was all the indication of impatience that he gave.

_Where were they?_

It was a question Hermione wanted to answer, but couldn't.

Not that it mattered.

A minute later and the potions began to ease Daphne's stress and curb her pain, but the pressure seemed to be her biggest issue. But apparently that was normal. For once, despite her experience, Hermione felt woefully out of her depth and had little to say. She just kept to her job of dabbing her friend's head with a cool towel and offering words of encouragement. All the while she watched, with a certain degree of horror, as Malfoy's hand turned from normal and pale to red. She could now see the veins.

There was no way he had any feeling left in his fingers.

And yet, Malfoy didn't seem to notice.

Maybe he was Occluding.

Hermione remembered Harry saying that Malfoy had learned. She'd never seen anyone do it up close before. George had tried after the war, but it had been such an unsafe and unstable way to handle grief. Besides, he didn't have what it took to be a good Occlumens; his feelings after the war had been too close to the surface, not repressed, chaotic.

Therapy had been a much better option.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was probably excellent at it. He had to compartmentalise his true emotions, suppress them, bury them so deep and cover the surface of his mind with meaningless thoughts to distract anyone from what was beneath. Malfoy was the most repressed person she knew, so it was possible. Hermione wasn't sure if he was doing it right then, but knew he _had_ to be doing _something_ because he hadn't so much as _winced_.

In fact, he'd shifted his chair closer to Daphne's side. His jaw flexed when her next contraction hit and she squeezed his hand like it was her lifeline, while seemingly holding her breath, straining.

Before the Mediwitch _or_ Hermione could say anything on the matter, Malfoy gave firm yet gentle instructions. "Exhale. Don't push yet."

Hermione was taken aback. How did he know? Hermione doubted it was even proper for wizards to be in the birthing room. Harry didn't care much for tradition, Dean either, but she always thought that Malfoy—

"Okay. Okay." Daphne stared right at him as she exhaled slowly, nodding along with him and sharing silent words neither would speak.

Whatever she was saying to him, Malfoy responded with a restrained, " _I know._ "

A low sob broke loose before she shut her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks.

The Mediwitch stepped out of the room and Hermione watched several things at once: the emotional exchange and bond between them she had never been around to witness, the uncharacteristic serenity he projected, and just… _him_. She stared at Malfoy for so long that she nearly forgot what she was supposed to be doing. It wasn't until _he_ caught her staring and quirked his brow that she looked away.

Just for a moment.

The door opened and the entrance of a harried Dean felt like salvation.

And though Daphne had been worried sick, everything just melted away when she saw him. He looked relieved to see her. Happy to see that she was all right. Glad that he hadn't been too late. Hermione stepped aside and allowed her husband to fill the space she'd just left.

"Sorry I'm late." He was sweating and a bit dirty, looking as if he'd run several kilometres while still in his work clothes from Gringotts where Dean was a Curse-breaker. "Working on a cursed vault when Pansy—well, she'll likely be _banned_ for violating security protocol."

There was a mixture of laughs, chuckles, and snorts between the four of them.

And then Dean leaned forward, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders that she brought her free hand up to clasp. Malfoy, now freed from her grip, joined Hermione at the foot of the bed, giving the soon-to-be new parents space. Dean rested his forehead against hers. When he spoke her name like a prayer, Daphne shut her eyes, truly relaxing for the first time.

" _I love you."_

" _I love you, too."_

The sight was almost too intimate to witness; a private, vulnerable moment between two people who loved each other so much they defied everything just to be together. She found herself struck by the exchange, the moment when past, present, and future blended seamlessly together like a trinity. Unified and alive.

"We're going to be parents," Daphne whispered in awe, her eyes wet with tears. "I'm terrified."

"Me, too." Dean's quiet confession was loud in the silence.

Not knowing where else to look, Hermione glanced over at Malfoy, who opened and closed his fist, mouth downturned in a solemn expression. To get his attention, she tapped his arm. He cut his eyes to her and she made a gesture towards the door. His response had been to lead the way. Hermione followed, watching the way he walked, noting the stiffness in his shoulders and the way he continually flexed his hand.

He _was_ hurt. He'd likely aggravated the untreated injury.

To the new parents, she said, "We're going to wait with everyone else."

They both nodded, but Daphne mouthed _thank you_ to her. She grinned back in response.

Malfoy was near the door when Dean addressed him. "Draco." They both looked for two separate reasons: Hermione because of _how_ he'd said his name—with an air of gratitude and a measure of respect—and Malfoy in a knee-jerk response to hearing his name.

The two men exchanged looks. Not words.

Pansy interrupted the silent exchange by all but bursting into the room. She had yellow balloons and was holding three bags with a look of high irritation on her face. "Am I late?"

"No! Come hold my other hand!"

In a move that was surprisingly compliant, Pansy did just that. But first she practically dropped everything in a chair and glared at Daphne. "You're about to be _really_ annoying, aren't you?"

"Of course, I am, I've got something the size of a _watermelon_ coming—"

The words died in her mouth when another contraction hit.

They slipped out just as the Mediwitch returned.

Hermione fell into step beside Malfoy. From the door to the end of the corridor and through their first turn, they said nothing. In the end, she broke the silence when the pieces of the dynamic between Pansy and Daphne fell into place and she gave a soft, chuffed chuckle.

"They fight like siblings."

"You say that as if that surprises you." Malfoy cast a sharp look in her direction as they continued down another hall, heading towards the lift. "And if it does, you haven't been paying attention." He paused. "Surprising for someone who rarely misses a thing."

"Admittedly, there are _plenty_ of things that I miss. And even more that I don't understand."

 _Like you._ The word almost sprang forth, but Hermione suppressed it, smothered it, or tried to.

But the thought wouldn't die.

When they passed a Healer she was familiar with but didn't know by name, Hermione politely nodded in greeting. Malfoy said nothing until they were alone.

"It's a humbling experience to be burned." His voice was deep like thunder that matched his stormy look. "To be ostracized from everything you know because you want something you shouldn't, something you've known all your life you won't get because of your duty to your family, your heritage, and your bloodline."

"You've never been burned. How would you know?"

"You're right. Instead, I did as I was told." Solemn words from a stoic man. "There's punishment in that, too."

Draco Malfoy was younger than her, but his sentiment carried a weight that made him sound so much older. Brittle. Lonely.

His statement would stay with her for a long time. Follow her from room to room. Replay in the silence. Unavoidable.

And it wasn't just that.

His words were timeworn in the same way dead languages were. When translated, they could be interpreted and applied to every part of his life: when he'd made the wrong choice at the wrong time, when he had gone down the wrong path. He seemed to know that, no matter what good he did, no matter how many Death Eaters he brought to justice, his present would never eclipse his history.

He never stood a chance, always fighting an uphill battle.

But for some reason, he kept fighting.

She had no idea why.

" _Burning_ ," Malfoy drawled, cutting through her thoughts, "is something that they have both suffered, at one time or another. I won't deny each could have handled it a lot better, at least as it pertained to the other."

"Daphne could have been more understanding about Pansy's abandonment, as she was under the thumb of her husband's family, but Pansy could have tried harder, too. Also, Daphne could have been more supportive when Pansy left that life."

"That's a very black and white way of looking at things, Granger," he snipped curtly but it didn't have much heat. "But you're not wrong. How do _you_ know—"

Hermione stopped in front of the lift. "They've each told me a bit, but Theo told me more." She shook her head fondly. "He's like a collector of wayward purebloods."

"That's accurate." Malfoy didn't sound quite humoured, but it was close.

"But what about you?" The question was out before she could reconsider.

He tensed, turning to face her, brow lifted. "What _about_ me?"

Everything about him screamed that she was pushing too much, but she did it anyway. "Why did Theo take you in?"

"He had his reasons." The answer was so vague that it was both useless and full of meaning. Hermione had no idea how to decipher it. "I think the better question is why did he take _you_ in, Granger? With that logic, you're neither wayward nor are you a pureblood. He considers you a friend, yet you don't meet his criteria."

"I didn't know friendship came with conditions. Just loyalty, consistency, and trust. Does yours?"

"Are you trying to be my _friend_ , Granger?" He flexed his hand _again_. The painful grimace remained as he opened and closed his fist. "I'm not one of your projects."

"No, you're not." She glanced down at his left hand. In comparison to the right, it was red and swollen. "How's your hand?"

"It's fine."

Obviously a lie.

With a more clinical eye, Hermione took her wand out of the pocket of the apron she ridiculously was _still_ wearing. Malfoy, who most definitely noticed the action, narrowed his eyes and stepped back, bumping into the wall next to the lift doors. Hermione stepped with him, reaching for the cuff of his sleeve. Sharply, he drew back.

She looked up to meet his eyes. "I can heal it."

"I said I'm fine. I have a high tolerance for pain."

"I'm aware, but you shouldn't have to suffer."

Hermione wondered if the intensity of his gaze was indicative of the defensiveness that he carried like a shield or just a product of the friction and history. "Why does it matter to you?"

"I'm a Healer. It's my job and it'll just take a second to examine it."

Malfoy's frown was deep, cool, and fixed. Unmovable.

"If you must." He extended his hand between them and looked away.

His acquiescence jolted her. She hadn't expected it. Rubbing her thumbs against her fingertips, feeling strangely jittery, Hermione tentatively reached for the extended arm and turned it over as though she was dealing with a skittish patient—honestly, she was. Hermione made quick work of healing his hand. After a couple of spells, it was no longer red or irritated.

"I'm just going to look at your wrist as well."

When she went to unbutton the cuff of his shirt, Malfoy tried to jerk his arm away, but his back was against the wall and his elbow hit it hard, causing him to wince.

There was no place to go.

Why was he so jumpy about showing his wrist? It couldn't be the mark that had faded with Voldemort's death. Besides, he had a—

"Normally," she said softly, "people with tattoos are proud to show them off, but not you. You seem ashamed."

Malfoy tensed to the point of absolute stillness as she unbuttoned his cuff. "The only tattoo I'm ashamed of is nothing but scarred skin."

Hermione would never dream of getting one, but she found tattoos fascinating. They could tell a thousand stories, show a myriad of emotions, tell someone's dreams, memories, stories of hurt and happiness, joy and pain—all without uttering a single word.

It was a unique form of art that could show a person's _soul_.

But what about Malfoy's? What piece of his soul did he etch into his skin?

Hermione folded his sleeve back once, eyes raking over the tiny reveal of his secret, one that she'd been quietly interested in since seeing it for the first time. It was most definitely a dragon. An intricate one at that. Dramatic. The shaded scales she had seen were part of the tail that became its body. It wound around his arm and continued up beyond what she could see—beyond what he would _willingly_ expose.

Hermione stepped closer, now toe-to-toe with him, as she examined him. Once again, she was surprised to find his hands warm. The tips of his were fingers rough from past injuries. Burned. It was something she had done with other patients she'd healed before, lacing her fingers with his and rolling a compliant wrist, bending it back and forth.

Just to test its flexibility.

Strength.

Hermione also looked at the details of his tattoo, but what she could see wasn't enough. It didn't answer enough questions. She was curious by nature, after all. Now more than ever after his note to his son.

She _needed_ to see more to find more answers.

With bated breath, because she just _knew_ Malfoy was going to stop her, Hermione focused on her task of unlacing their fingers and rolling his sleeve up again—now nearly halfway up his forearm. Though her reason was illogical, he didn't stop her. He remained as still as a statue, so silent she could hardly hear him breathing.

What Hermione _could_ feel were his eyes on her, searching and intense. _Burning her_. But she knew better than to look as he loomed above her like a shadow. She knew if she looked up, it would all be over. The spell would be broken.

Hermione focused on the task at hand. More scales were revealed. The dragon's body continued up his arm, partly covering scarred skin.

But Hermione barely noticed.

Her attention was snatched by a space on the dragon's belly that was different altogether. A scarred part of his skin that once represented his shame was now covered, shaded a dark blue.

It looked like a night sky with stars organised into shapes.

A constellation.

A scorpion.

_Scorpius._

_Wear your heart on your skin in this life.  
_ **Sylvia Plath**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's nice to be back. Hope everyone had a great new year. It's been an eventful new year thus far. Apologies for the delay with the posting. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. So much happens (BB SCORP) and so much change on all fronts and people beginning to notice the chemistry between Draco and Hermione. Until next week!


	14. House of Cards

**  
Fourteen  
** _House of Cards_

_**June 12, 2011** _

Raindrops.

They fell from the stormy sky in a torrential bout. Hard and fast, unrelenting droplets pounded against the glass panes of her lit conservatory, racing to the ground and gathering in puddles. It had been storming for hours, and visibility was nothing. All Hermione could hear was the nearby crackle of the trees as the howling wind tested the strength of their roots. Lightning streaked across the sky every so often, but Hermione paid it no mind.

She was too busy watching Scorpius.

He sat on the floor, in front of the conservatory garden, knees drawn to his chest as his eyes skittered across the room. With each pass, he would look back to where she sat with Narcissa, startle, and then look away. The plant life, with the stormy skies serving as a backdrop, made the air heavier than it should have been. Scorpius' red ears were indicative of his mood, which made Hermione lace her fingers together, and squeeze tightly to stop herself from doing or saying anything that could be counterproductive.

It was such a small detail—one she wasn't supposed to know the meaning of, but she did.

He was nervous. He would rather sit perfectly still than step a toe out of line.

"Miss Granger." Narcissa broke the silence in a move that made her grandson tense. He shifted yet again, both legs straight in front of him. "I thought you said he likes plants. He does not seem to be enjoying himself."

No, he didn't, but Hermione had several guesses as to why. "Perhaps you can go on with your day and I can report how the playdate goes."

"I would prefer to observe for myself."

That hadn't been part of the plan.

Hermione took a third hard breath in the last fifteen minutes. "Why?"

"To appease my own curiosity, and to see if he behaves around other children. It will be a test of sorts to determine if I will allow another one. Connections are best formed young, and this one is important. I'd—"

"I'd like it if you didn't treat my godson like an opportunity when he's a child. When they're _both_ children." Hermione's tone made the older woman recoil. "The agreement was that this playdate will be conducted in my home, in the way that I see fit, which involves _me_ facilitating _alone_. Harry and Ginny agreed. And need I remind you that _you_ agreed as we—"

"No need to lecture, Miss Granger." Narcissa cleared her throat delicately. "An agreement is an agreement." She stood, looking first at Scorpius, whose eyes were across the room, then at Hermione, who refused to back down. "I expect a full report."

"You'll have it by the end of the day."

The silence that fell after her terse words was magnified by the storm raging outside.

But no argument followed.

"Scorpius." The boy obediently went to Narcissa's side. She peered down at him in a way that made Hermione swallow back her aggravation. "Remain on your best behaviour. I will have it no other way."

He bowed politely, and when Narcissa left, Hermione scowled at her back. She had half a mind to follow the older witch and lay out each of her mounting arguments, but she held her peace. Narcissa leaving was a win.

She tucked the topic of Narcissa's treatment of Scorpius in her pocket to discuss another day.

_And she would_.

Right now, though, there were more important things to think about. Scorpius deserved an actual tour.

She spent the next twenty minutes showing him each plant and letting him decide what was next. If he wanted to touch, she let him. If he didn't understand how, she showed him. Hermione demonstrated the touch-sensitive leaves of the plant that, much to her quiet delight, was last touched by his father.

Bit by bit, Scorpius relaxed, and his attention spread beyond the plants. He pressed his hands against the glass and watched the storm outside with innocent fascination, then marvelled at the lights that stretched across the room.

"Do you like it here?"

Scorpius turned towards her question and nodded, cheeks pink, before moving on to the next thing that caught his attention.

They were nearing the cactus on the table next to her ottoman when she heard the Floo activate. Scorpius went stock still with nerves. He went to fix his blazer but Hermione kneeled in front of him, smoothing her hands down his arms as he watched her closely.

"If you need me, just hold my hand, okay?"

Though Scorpius nodded, she doubted he would. Still, Hermione had no gauge on how he would interact socially. Having talked to Al at length the previous weekend, in an effort to help him better understand Scorpius, she hoped it would go well. But children were unpredictable.

"Ready?"

Scorpius held her hand tightly as they made their way to the living room, where Albus, with his back to her, seemed to be getting a similar pep talk from a guest.

_Ron._

She had been so focused on Scorpius she hadn't noted his arrival.

He looked up at her as they drew closer. "Hey Hermione."

Al whirled around in peak chaotic energy. "Is he here, Auntie Mio—"

Upon seeing Scorpius, who had all but attached himself to Hermione's leg, Al stopped. Stuck between the two boys, she couldn't move, even if she wanted to.

Albus immediately turned bright red and clung to Ron, who whispered something in his nephew's ear.

Hermione couldn't read his lips, but whatever he'd said made Al nod and approach all on his own.

She'd never been more proud of her godson.

The two seemed to size each other up in a way only five-year-olds could. Hermione observed them both, able to quickly pick up the less obvious contrasts outside of their physical appearance. Al was messy where Scorpius was perfectly put together, eager where Scorpius was perfectly blank. There were more, but their similarities shone through.

They were both hanging on a moment, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Then Al boldly took the honour. "Can I call you Scorp?"

Ron suppressed his amusement with a cough as Scorpius looked to her in severe confusion.

"It's a nickname and that's _your choice_."

He seemed to consider it for only a moment before nodding. Al's face lit up, then crumpled in a way that made Hermione wince. Before she could ask what was wrong, his cheeks turned bright red.

"I did it wrong. I'm s'posed to say _my_ name first. I—"

"It's okay, Al." She squatted in front of him. "You did great! Right, Scorpius?" The blond boy's response surprised her. He glanced down to where his hand was firmly holding hers, then awkwardly extended his other towards Albus, who was blinking back anxious tears.

Uncertain.

They both were—even still, their little fingers locked and held.

"I didn't mess up?"

It was clear he wasn't speaking to her, but Scorpius only kept his eyes on their joined hands, so Hermione answered. "Not at all."

She gave them a moment, but Al used it to try again. "I'm Albus."

For the first time, Scorpius let her hand go and waved.

"Auntie 'Mione says you don't talk but that's okay, I'll talk enough for the both of us."

Behind him, she could hear Ron's quiet laughter. "Don't forget to eat, Al."

His blush intensified. "I won't, Uncle Ron."

"Are you both hungry?" Hermione grinned.

They responded with twin nods. Scorpius took an unconscious step towards Al, face perfectly blank, but everything spoke to his curiosity about the other child.

"Okay, Al, show Scorpius where you wash your hands."

"Okay!" It was slow, but they ventured off towards the steps, hands still clasped together, Scorpius staring in open wonder. From the bottom of the steps, Al said, "I promise not to play in the sink this time!"

Hermione waited until they were out of sight before shaking her head and chuckling fondly. Rising to her full height, she suddenly remembered Ron was there, too. She greeted him somewhat awkwardly, running a hand through her hair. She hated feeling like that around him, but there was nothing to be done.

"Thanks for bringing him by."

Ron seemed equally as uncomfortable. "Harry got tied up at work. Something about a surprise inquiry with Malfoy."

Sounded like Tiberius was still up to no good.

The already strange silence stretched on, punctuated only by the sound from the sink upstairs and Al's childish chatter she couldn't quite hear.

Ron thumbed in the direction of the two boys. "So… that's Scorpius Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"I was expecting—"

"His father?"

"Well, yeah…" He trailed off with a shrug while Hermione mentally considered the comparison both fair and detrimental in equal measure. "Is he part of your work assignment?"

"No."

"Then why—" Ron shook his head. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. I've got to go. I have a meeting with George and some investors."

"Oh, okay then."

Hermione waited until he was gone before she gathered everything for their meal: salad wraps with an assortment of fruits and vegetables she'd already peeled and cut. Albus wasn't picky and could be coaxed into trying most anything. Scorpius—well, Hermione hadn't been able to truly gauge his predilections outside the few lunches she'd made him. The meal she'd prepared was a happy medium. Al's wrap had been stuffed with ham, but she held off on doing the same for Scorpius, leaving him with only vegetables.

She had a tiny hunch.

By the time they returned, clothes dry and hands clean, Hermione couldn't help but notice the small shift between them. They both seemed more comfortable around each. There were less open stares from Al while Scorpius still watched in quiet wonder.

"Ready to eat?"

"Yes!"

The table in the conservatory was set for them to eat lunch with the storm overhead. Hermione sat across from the boys and smiled softly. Al, who had pushed their chairs close together while Scorpius removed his blazer, was patiently waiting for Scorpius to sit before tucking in.

Scorpius examined the wrap closely before he took his first curious bite.

"Is it good?"

"Yes!" Al's response was enthusiastic, but Scorpius' agreement was slow, and only after taking a second bite.

An animated Albus dominated all conversation between bites of his lunch; so happy to finally be in the presence of the boy Hermione had mentioned only a few weeks ago. Scorpius looked on in overwhelmed confusion that she watched closely for signs that it was too much. Overall, though, it seemed like he was trying to keep up with Al's chaotic chatter.

Al talked about what he'd learned at school and how he was happy it was almost summer break, but skirted around any topics of friends, which made Hermione's smile wane. There was a soft break before he resumed with renewed vigour.

Al talked to Scorpius at length about his siblings. " _James makes fun of me so when Lily bites him I don't say anything."_

His parents. " _My dad is the best but my mum is scary."_

The toys he liked. " _I like dinosaurs."_

The toys he didn't care for. " _Lily tries to make me play with dolls. Gross!"_

Hermione listened, as she always did, with her full attention on him. She glanced at Scorpius, who wore a slightly pinched expression as he ate. It was hard to tell if he was listening intently or irritated. She hoped it was the former. The latter would break Al's heart.

"Next time, can I show Scorp the chickens?"

"If it's not raining, of course."

Scorpius was hard to read. He wasn't smiling or frowning, he just seemed blank, eating with all the manners he'd learned. It was a little worrying, given his nature.

"Do you like chickens?" The hope in Al's green eyes was something delicate, something that needed protection.

Scorpius was a little slow on the realisation that Albus had stopped talking and was, in fact, asking _him_ a question. He only shrugged his response.

Al's shoulders sank a bit, and Hermione couldn't help but intervene. "Have you seen chickens in person before?"

The blond shook his head, flushing in embarrassment.

"Oh!" Al perked up. "I can show you. I wish it weren't raining," Al pouted while looking up at the glass ceiling of the conservatory. "What's so good about the rain?"

"Well, rain gives us fresh water to drink, helps the plants grow, and it's nice to sit inside and watch the rain with friends."

Silence fell, but it only lasted until a crack of lightning streaked across the sky.

"Are we friends?" It was an awkward question from a hopeful child.

All of her private worries vanished when Scorpius offered Al a slice of his tangerine.

The answer in his action spoke louder than any words ever could.

_Yes._

* * *

_**June 13, 2011** _

  
Hermione noted a minor adjustment to her morning routine.

As always, she woke early and prepared her body and mind for the day ahead. She made her customary to-do list while checking on her outdoor herb garden, noting which plants needed attention and which were ready to be harvested. She collected the morning's eggs and made certain all was well with the chickens, dropping a few scraps that they converged on, before she took her work indoors.

That was where her routine veered the slightest bit off course.

It was silly how attached she'd gotten to the cactus, quite barmy that every time she walked into the conservatory—teeming with plants that were bigger, more colourful, more important and honestly, more _impressive_ —the little speck of green across the room was always the first thing that grabbed her attention.

It was the first plant she inspected.

And damn if Hermione didn't inspect it every day.

And every night.

The prickly plant still sat on the table next to her ottoman. Every person that saw it pointed out how sad it looked, except Theo who had just _stared at it_. Hermione, on the other hand, could only see the plant's potential and the daily improvements it made as it worked hard to stand up.

But it didn't need her help anymore.

Like people, Narcissa had said during their gardening session, plants needed time to adjust and heal. But that hadn't stopped Hermione from checking in each day, reading up to make sure it had the proper nutrients, and sitting with it as she skimmed the morning edition of The Prophet.

Had she not read the paper that morning, Hermione might not have noticed the other changes occurring around her.

Percy had been busy.

He'd apparently spearheaded a joint effort with fourteen other Ministries to form a coalition to fight the spread of terrorism. The story had been front page news, with the Chief Warlock next to the Minister, who was shaking hands with the American President. Percy had been in the background, stoic as ever. While the Wizengamot had made a big show of it, Hermione knew they had only signed because they'd had no other option.

It wouldn't be a good look if they didn't.

Just after six, Hermione stepped out of the Floo. She expected to be greeted with the sight of a Malfoy, glasses tipped on the bridge of his nose as he read the Prophet at the island, but unlike every other morning, she experienced the second adjustment to her routine.

The kitchen was empty, table completely clear except for the note on the table for Scorpius…

And the electric kettle was… on. _For her?_

Malfoy had already come and gone.

The disappointment she felt was odd in its severity. Coupled with confusion behind the source of her sentiment and his continued contradictions…

Well, it was funny how a gesture as simple as Malfoy leaving the kettle on could spark such deep thoughts.

It hadn't been an accident. He was far too meticulous. Hermione dissected it as she frowned at the kettle. She placed her bag on the island and put together the key points.

Automatic shut off withstanding, Malfoy must have _known_ she would be there in time.

Which was _interesting—_ Draco Malfoy only _truly_ trusted himself. His friends seemed to have pieces of his puzzle independently, some more than others, but collectively, they didn't have them all. _Certainly_ not the ones needed to form a picture of him that made any kind of sense.

But that day Malfoy had placed a piece of his puzzle in _her_ hand.

A small one that was either insignificant or vital; she didn't know which, but what she _did_ know was that piece meant _trust_.

At least as it pertained to the routine they'd formed.

Which was… different.

More than interesting, it felt like a shift, regardless if it was wanted or not.

Synchronicity found in a simple action.

By the time Narcissa all but stormed into the kitchen, irritation rolling off her in tidal waves, Hermione was on her second cup of tea.

Scorpius had come for breakfast, looking around for his father. Hermione didn't leave him in suspense; she told the little boy he'd already gone to work. Wincing, she noted his flash of disappointment. The moment passed and he collected his note and his herb sprig of the day: Basil.

Today, Scorpius had been more interested in _her_ breakfast—eggs and toast with rhubarb jam—than the one Zippy had prepared. The poached egg and sausage was too complex for five-year-old tastebuds, judging by the way Scorpius refused to eat the runny eggs and ignored the meat with an upturned nose.

She was glad Zippy wasn't there. He might have been offended.

Hermione pointedly ignored his stares and talked to him about yesterday's lunch with Albus, grinning to herself when he expressed his enjoyment with a shy nod. After several minutes of owlish blinks and that same innocent expression of longing Harry's kids employed when they wanted something, Hermione offered him her second slice of toast.

Scorpius ate it all. Even the crust.

The sacrifice she'd made didn't feel like one at all when he smiled.

Hermione smiled into her tea at the memory long after he left for his lessons.

"You are _awfully_ chipper today, Miss Granger."

Judging from the brittle insolence in her tone, Narcissa Malfoy was _not_.

Despite being well dressed, with her hair properly styled, exhaustion poured from every crevice. The physical signs had been either charmed away or hidden with makeup. But Hermione could see through the facade. She knew what to look for: bags under her slightly red-rimmed eyes and clammy skin. The older witch was not okay.

Hermione made mental notes and adjustments, but said nothing on that particular topic.

"Did you receive my report regarding the playdate?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Do you have any questions?"

"No."

Narcissa's behaviour hadn't changed much since their previous conversation, but she _had,_ at least, been taking her potions and eating breakfast—notably, though, not lunch. The soirée had been the previous weekend, and with that over, Hermione was ready to discuss continuing on their plan.

"When would you like to resume gardening?"

"I have other matters that require my attention."

"Oh?" That did not like up with what Narcissa had said just last week. "Matters such as?"

"Scheduling marriage dates for Draco as a result of several agreements made at the soirée. Furthermore, the event was such a success that I was invited to three more. The prospect of expanding my search—"

"We didn't agree to this. If I recall—" Hermione ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "I'm not arguing about this today. I don't have the time _or_ energy. If you aren't busy, I'd like to run some diagnostic tests on you."

Narcissa only sighed, acting more put out than she had any right to be. "Must we? Sachs already ran diagnostic spells on me this morning. The results appeared on the parchment just before I came downstairs."

"Actually, those results are the reason why I want to run more tests. There were… a few abnormalities."

"Oh?"

"I know what Keating's notes say regarding your sleeping habits, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"I am sleeping just fine outside of being increasingly restless."

Sachs came into the room holding two vials in her hands. "Mrs Malfoy, you've forgotten both your Invigoration Draught and Girding Potion."

_Come again?_

Hermione's eyes trailed the witch until she placed the vial next to Narcissa, who drank them both and continued eating like nothing was wrong.

But this was a _major_ problem.

It was a cold reminder of the sheer amount of things that happened without her knowledge.

And that aggravated Hermione to the ends of the Earth.

She cleared her throat, turning her attention to Sachs and keeping her tone even. She needed to disguise her sharp sting of annoyance—and worry. After all, Hermione needed honest answers and her private healers were loyal. _Especially_ Sachs. "I probably should take one of those from time to time."

"They're quite good for your mental function." Sachs looked quite proud of herself, but her smile waned. Apparently, Hermione wasn't able to suppress some of her more _expressive_ looks. It became increasingly obvious that she was aware of Hermione's irritation because her features hardened into something that felt like a challenge. "Mrs Malfoy has been taking them for _years_. She stopped when you started treating her, but recently restarted because she's been so tired lately."

_Fascinating_.

Hermione sat her teacup down and leaned back on the chair, face blank. Sachs shifted from foot-to-foot. "Neither you nor Keating seemed to think it was relevant to inform me, her Primary Healer, of this?"

"Stand down, Miss Granger. The potions are harmless." Narcissa stood up and nodded at Sachs. "I thank you for bringing them to me. You may go." But before the other Healer could leave, Narcissa's blue eyes cut over to Hermione, who was tapping her fingers on the table. "I am feeling much better now, and have a fitting for a new pair of dress robes that will last most of the afternoon. Security will be around shortly to escort me."

"That's fine." Hermione was more focused on Sachs anyway. Raising a finger, she curled it in at the other witch. "Sachs? A moment please? In private."

Because it was clear her bridge-building and compromising attitude meant very little to everyone who liked to do things their own way. It just made them boldly think that they could operate as usual when she wasn't around. And even when she was.

Hermione was prepared to teach them all a firm lesson.

Narcissa sighed, clearly aware of the direction the conversation to be had in her absence would take. "Miss Granger." At the sharp glare she received in return, her patient rolled her eyes with the eloquence of a woman of her social standing. Narcissa swanned out of the room, her long periwinkle robes flowing behind her like a curtain in the summer breeze.

For once, Hermione waited until she was gone. "After today, no more outside potions."

"Miss Granger, as a—"

"Did you happen to read the research I provided to you at the start of my assignment? It's imperative that you and Keating know what to expect as her disease progresses, and why I am taking the treatment standpoint that I am."

"I did, and nowhere in it does it say that she can't take outside potions."

"Really? Because page twenty-eight says _just_ that. A re-read might do you some good."

Sachs cheeks flared red with indignation. "I have been a Healer longer than you have been _alive_."

"Experience isn't always measured in years. If it were, it would beg the question as to _why_ she decided to hire me in the first place." Hermione stood, resting her hands on her hips. The witch said nothing, only set her jaw in a way that made her look like an angry McGonagall. If it were the real thing, she might have backed down, but Sachs was no Minerva. "As I'm aware, your specialty is in terminal care. What it doesn't include is _dementia_ or any other disease that affects the brain or neurological system."

"Neither does yours. You mainly work with recovering potions addicts and revived long-term patients."

Oh, so she _had_ done her research—but not completely. Seemed to be a trend. "I _also_ happen to specialise in slowing the progression of certain terminal diseases, so now that we have reviewed my credentials, I'd like to move forward with our discussion as it pertains to the care of our mutual patient." Hermione walked around the table and picked up the two empty vials. "I considered a myriad of factors when creating her potions. Weight. Height. Medical history. Tolerability. Formulation. Adverse effects. And last, but _certainly_ not least, interaction with other potions: a factor that is testy at best."

"It's only been two days since she started taking them again. There have been no signs of any adverse interactions."

"That we know of." Hermione's fist clenched around the empty vials. "Do _you_ know the long-term effects of mixing potions? Both you and Mrs Malfoy state that the potions she takes are harmless, but neither one of you are Potions Masters. And neither am I, but I've _at least_ consulted enough of them to know that a reaction could be instant or slow. One could take _months_ to manifest. I haven't had her tested in that capacity, as I didn't know I had a reason to."

Sachs sniffed, nose upturned sanctimoniously. "I don't think that will be necessary."

Healers, no matter what specialty, were narcissists in some capacity. Even her.

"You stick to your specialty, and I'll stick to mine," Hermione seethed. "At least _I_ had the decency to consult an expert before administering a potion that I—"

"The ingredients to both are harmless."

"When taken separately." Hermione tried to keep her voice down and maintain her professional poise. "Narcissa is on _nine_ other potions. You have _no idea_ —"

"Mrs Malfoy has been repeatedly asking for the potions and I had no reason to believe that they would adversely affect her in any way." The other Healer remained completely calm in the near cresting of Hermione's temper.

"That's a careless way of thinking that I won't allow. That's not how I work; that's not how _any_ of this will work. If you care about Narcissa as much as I think you do, if you want to work with me to preserve her mind for as long as we can, you'll try to _help_ _me_ instead of _enabling her_."

If unacknowledged guilt had a face, it would look a lot like Sachs'. She held her hands firmly together, gaze off to the side. She was no longer looking at Hermione when her thin lips pressed into a thin line.

"After today, no more," Hermione repeated with a soft finality that made it perfectly clear the argument was over. She Vanished the vials. "Is she taking any other _harmless_ potions I need to know about?"

The older Healer's jaw worked stubbornly as she met Hermione's fierce gaze with one of her own. Sachs obviously didn't know her well if she thought any look would make her back down. Hermione didn't blink or move, just held her position firm.

After a solid minute of tense silence, Sachs confessed, "Once a week she has a sip of Dreamless Sleep."

It was the match that set her temper ablaze.

Hermione snatched her beaded bag off the table and stormed out of the kitchen with the other Healer hot on her heels, uselessly calling her name. She had one destination in mind.

Narcissa's bedroom was large, ornate, and decorated as one would a wing in a castle—not at all like the rest of the house. Like Malfoy's office, it was clearly _her space_. Large enough to host an intimate tea, it was a room fit for a queen. A separate sitting area was decorated with stunning plants, décor, furniture, and drapes. The door to the bathroom was open, while the double doors leading to her bedroom were closed.

Standing in the middle of the sitting area was Narcissa, flanked by her security.

Three heads immediately swivelled in her direction.

Hermione walked in without knocking, Sachs right behind her. "I _keep_ giving you allowances, I _keep_ trying to compromise, and I _keep_ having conversation after conversation with you about your behaviour, and I'm _done_. Let me remind you that _I'm_ the Healer and _you're_ the patient and frankly, I'm _finished_ waiting for you to realise enough is _enough_."

Narcissa's face was a mix of irritation and confusion. Her mouth opened, likely ready to demand just what the _hell_ Hermione thought she was doing bursting into her quarters.

Or that was what she would have said.

Perhaps.

Instead, unintelligible words forced themselves out in a stream of consciousness that made no sense. Her eyes went wide with surprise, then hazy as all the colour in her face bled away. She spontaneously Apparated across the room and landed in a heap, catching her head on the edge of the coffee table.

A breath passed.

Then another before chaos ensued.

All Hermione heard was Sachs' useless gasp before she was swept up in a blur of motions that only cleared when she reached her patient's side. The guards that had ' _saved'_ Hermione made it to Narcissa first. They had the good sense to protect her head and neck while Hermione set to work closing the bleeding gash. The other guard was staring past them all, head cocked in confusion, but she didn't turn to investigate. She was in emergency mode, checking Narcissa's vitals before the guard let her neck go.

Narcissa was breathing too hard, face twisted in pain, but her pulse was mercifully slow but steady. The sweat on her brow was as cold as her clammy skin. Hermione checked for any signs of Splinching then checked her eyes. Her pupils were so wide her eyes almost looked black.

_Fuck._

"What's wrong with her?" One of the security guards asked; she didn't know which but it didn't much matter either.

Hermione was composed. She worked well under pressure, remaining calm during times of stress, and she already knew both what had happened and how to fix it. Potions mixtures, fatigue, and her disease likely coalesced and caused her to accidentally Apparate. There were so many ingredients that could have crossed and caused such a reaction, but she wouldn't be able to confirm the exact source until she ran the proper tests, but it was fixable.

Then Narcissa started seizing.

Hermione threw a look over her shoulder at Sachs, who appeared somewhere embarrassed and cross, before she returned to her task. In a rush, she upended her bag. All sorts of books and vials came tumbling out until she found the one she needed.

A Neutralising Draught. She kept one on her person at all times, as it was designed to reverse the effects of adverse reactions. Hermione uncorked the vial and tilted Narcissa's neck up to pour the clear liquid down her throat. It only took a minute for her body to relax, her breathing to even, and her pulse to normalise.

"That should do it." Relieved, Hermione sat back on her heels. She ran a hand through her riotous hair, which had sprung free from its elastic confines during the chaos. She found another hairband and pulled it all back into a messy bun.

"Will she wake up?" the guard on the other side of her body asked.

"Not immediately, but soon. She will need to rest." Hermione's response was clinical as she collected her bag and addressed the guard. "Can you levitate her to the bed, please?"

The wizard nodded soberly, took out his wand and did as instructed. Narcissa's body rose from the floor as they both stood. Sachs rushed over to hold her arms comfortably so they wouldn't dangle.

The two Healers exchanged stony looks.

Now wasn't the time to lay blame on anyone's door, but Hermione hoped she finally understood.

The security team member was about to turn his head when he froze, just as his partner had, now that she thought about it.

"Uh. What are we supposed to do about him?"

_Him?_

Hermione whipped around to find a tearful Scorpius clutching a book to his chest in the doorway. Her heart skipped a beat.

The only word on her mind was not safe to speak around him: _Shite_.

"Take her, please. Sachs, cancel her schedule for the day." Hermione was no longer looking at them, still hyper-focused on the red-faced child. He dropped his book, blue eyes filling with tears. But she felt their questions. "Just go, _all of you_. Give us a moment."

To what extent they followed her commands, Hermione didn't know _or_ care—she was in motion before the final directive was given.

It was pure instinct that brought her to her knees in front of the little boy. Safety and compassion that caused her to open her arms to him. Comfort and refuge she offered in her embrace. Kindness in her touch. Resting her cheek on the crown of his head, Hermione listened with a heavy heart as his sniffles escalated into great sobs.

Hearing Scorpius cry was like listening to someone who had been wounded; a sound so heartbreakingly raw Hermione would never forget it. But instead of shushing him with empty, mollifying words, she stayed silent and let him grip her shirt in his small fists and get it out.

She let him cry and feel whatever emotions were running through him.

All of the things he wouldn't say.

Fear. Sadness. Panic.

_Grief_.

Hermione stumbled over the word—the same one she _desperately_ tried not to think about each time she saw Scorpius, but it was hard to ignore what was right in front of her.

The pain from the loss of his mother was there in his reticence, in every slow crooked smile.

It was there in the way he'd only leave after she promised to come back.

In every hiding spot, every expression, and every step in his routine.

In the letters Scorpius carried from his father.

In every fibre of his small being.

Hermione's heavy heart slipped from her hands, fell, and broke for the boy who preferred silence, even though it was so damn lonely. It shattered even further when she realised she couldn't do more to help him, to take it away. She would if she could.

The thought was excruciatingly overwhelming in its truth.

Heartbreak was a strange emotion. It never had any rhyme or reason, coming and going as it pleased. It was a word that implied something intense and loud, as if she would have heard the dam in her heart breach and give way to confirm that it had happened.

When Scorpius' sobs softened to hiccuping sighs, she brushed her fingers through the short blond hairs on the back of his head. In that moment, Hermione was once again reminded that heartbreak wasn't loud and fast. It was quiet and slow. Less like a tidal wave and more like slowly drifting out to sea without realising how far she'd gotten from shore.

First there was panic, then desperation…

Resolve and then finally acceptance.

The last came in the form of tears welling in her own eyes, tears that eventually trickled down her cheeks. It came in the way he still held on, even as his sniffles subsided.

Hermione had no idea how long they were there, but eventually Scorpius relaxed and his breaths evened out. Long enough for Hermione to swallow down the emotions she had all but choked on, rubbing away the tears cascading down her cheeks.

"There you—" Long enough for Catherine to find them. "What happened here?"

"He witnessed something that scared him."

"Oh, well, I can take him from here."

Hermione shook her head. "No, lessons are cancelled for the day. Feel free to notify his tutor."

She didn't leave room for any further argument.

Not that it mattered—Scorpius never let go.

He held her hand as they went to the kitchen, leaned against her leg as he drank the water she'd given him. She dried his eyes and took him outside for fresh air, and when he crawled into her lap, she thought about reciting a few stories she'd committed to memory, but realised that silence was better. More comforting. They drifted together in one all their own until the door opened and Sachs made her presence known by clearing her throat.

"She's awake."

Scorpius lifted his head.

"Do you want to see your grandmother?"

After biting his lip, Scorpius nodded tentatively. His eyes followed Hermione as she stood up, then lowered again when she offered her hand. There was unspoken trust in the way he placed his hand in hers, openness in the way she held it in hers.

The short walk back to Narcissa's bedside was quiet, and Scorpius slowed as they neared her quarters, hesitant until he saw her sitting up in bed. Her guards were standing by the window—waiting, watching. Hermione sent everyone out with a jerk of her head. The two men left, but Sachs remained.

"Why are you not in your lessons?" Narcissa's query was firm, but her eyes were surprisingly indulgent. It was the only thing that stopped Hermione from reacting in Scorpius' defence.

"Does it matter? He saw—"

"Had he been in lessons, he would not have seen a thing."

Hermione took a moment to collect herself, and rein in her professionalism. She directed Scorpius to the rocking chair, covered his lap with a blanket, and summoned the book he'd dropped before. For the first time, she looked at it. It wasn't the dictionary, but rather a children's book on plants. He looked small in the oversized chair, smaller still with each sneaking glance at Narcissa.

Hermione internally sighed and turned her attention to her patient, taking out her wand to run several tests. She stepped out of the room and contacted Charles to discuss the results as well as the incident itself. According to Charlies, while her reaction was concerning, it wasn't an entirely uncommon response when potions were mixed. Sometimes harmless potions like the ones Narcissa took could be added in with no consequences, sometimes they could cause serious damage. There was no rhyme or reason. It just depended on the patient's body.

Despite the fact that it validated her no outside potions rule, Hermione didn't like that answer.

The potions weren't a cure. They were meant to ease the symptoms, and not completely at that.

It made her think. _Wonder_.

There was no cure, every expert opinion and stitch of research pointed to this, but _maybe_ there was the possibility of improving her potions, adjusting and stabilising them.

After her call, Hermione returned to the room only to find Scorpius asleep and Narcissa watching him with a complex look. Love. Pride. Sadness. It was an indication of a depth Hermione had no idea existed because she hadn't seen it for herself

"How do you feel?"

"Exhausted." Narcissa looked at her. "My head hurts, but I don't know why. I don't remember anything after leaving the kitchen."

That was what she had been afraid of.

Sachs, who was standing on the other side of the bed, made a small noise that got Hermione's attention. "I believe I—"

"I'd prefer it if we start over from here. _Fresh_. Today can't happen again for several reasons." Hermione glanced over at Scorpius. "I'm no longer bartering or trying to appeal to anyone's good sense. I'm not interested in playing word games and strategising. Moving forward I will require cooperation— _from everyone."_

Narcissa met her gaze but didn't say a thing.

"I'd like us all to work together to get you through your events. I recognise that you need the mental stimulation that society provides, in addition to your other worries." Her pale face shifted as she blinked in surprise. "Compliance and _honesty_ start today. Right here and right now. I have no desire to control you, you hired me to help. If you don't feel like you have to cooperate, if you feel like you can't stop resisting me at every turn, please let me know so I can turn in my notice and move on to the next assignment."

Her eyes dropped to her hands. "I recognise that I have not been the best patient."

"No, you haven't. I understand that your life is changing beyond your control and you're trying to cling to normality. I _cannot_ imagine what you're going through, what you've been through, and what's to come. And I don't presume to understand your thoughts or the fears you won't express. But I am and will continue to work hard to keep up my end of the agreement. This disease is your reality, it's your family's reality, not mine. I'm only here to do my best to give you a fighting chance. But you have to _let_ me."

Hermione extended her hand and Narcissa quietly took it. She looked in the direction of the window.

But she didn't let go.

"From now on, _everyone_ —me, you, Sachs, Keating, and your family—we all need to be on the same page. If we are not, you might not make it long enough to accomplish or _mend_ everything you've been working so hard for all these months."

Hermione glanced over at the sober Sachs, then at Scorpius, who shifted in the chair.

"You gave him a fright, and I suspect it won't be the last time." There were so many words that wanted out, at least as it pertained to Scorpius, but now wasn't the time. With great difficulty, Hermione swallowed them. "I imagine that, coupled with the rough year he's had, Scorpius doesn't understand what's happening, and that simply won't do. He _needs_ to know what's happening to you, but it's not my place to tell him. I'll leave that to you and his father."

Narcissa sighed with understanding, releasing Hermione's hands. "He has not had it easy, as many would believe based on his lineage."

That was a _massive_ understatement. Not so long ago the name wasn't one that could be said with any sort of pride. Now, things were different—sort of. The opinions on the Malfoys were just as complicated as _being one_. It couldn't be _easy_ , Hermione thought with a small frown. Given their traditions, and the airs and appearances they kept, duty to their bloodline forced them to set aside what they wanted and focus on what they were expected to do.

She thought about Narcissa and the distance she kept from everyone, even her own family. About kind-hearted Scorpius and his silence. About the loss he'd suffered at such a young age. About what was to come. And then her thoughts turned to Draco Malfoy and his words to her in the hospital, over the course of the last few months, and the things Kingsley and Pansy had said at different times, in different ways.

Being a Malfoy was _lonely,_ but it didn't have to be.

"Explaining Astoria's death was… _difficult_." Narcissa's confession was quiet and restrained.

"As it _should_ have been."

"He has his mother's heart." Narcissa wore a frown of distaste. "He is also a sensitive boy, but I am afraid sensitivity is something he inherited twofold, believe it or not."

_Twofold._

"I am working to prepare him." Narcissa's tone left no doubt that she _would_. Hermione couldn't help but think that it would be in all the wrong ways. "My methods may be seen as tough, rigid, and unforgiving, but I do it because that is how I was raised, Miss Granger. Furthermore, he _needs_ to be strong. The world will not be easy on him because of who he is. I bear responsibility in that and I do what I can to make things better for him in society, but I am afraid that it will not be enough."

No matter how much she understood, Hermione couldn't hold back. "He's just a _boy_ , isn't that what you told me?"

Narcissa stole another look, but said nothing.

Which was fine because Hermione wasn't finished.

"He's lost his mother. He doesn't need to just be strong or to compartmentalise his feelings. _He's five._ He needs a foundation. Security. He needs compassion and affection from you _and_ his father." She glanced over at the blond boy with his thumb in his mouth. "You say that he has his mother's heart as if it's a bad thing. Well, _I say_ there's nothing wrong with him having a heart that _works_."

* * *

_**June 14, 2011** _

  
Theo studied the now- _leaning_ cactus with a peculiar interest, Hermione cycled between reading her book and examining him during the lengthy silence while reclining comfortably on the chaise in her conservatory. There was a purpose for his visit. Behind his every action there was some motivation, but she couldn't figure out what.

His silent presence typically didn't bother Hermione. In fact, silences with Theo—while thought-provoking due to the ambiguous nature of them—were never awkward or uncomfortable.

Companionable, in a strange way. Hermione never felt pressured to come up with a clever way to break it because she knew it was intentional. Theo would end the silence precisely when he wanted to, and not a minute before.

And… well, there was something shamefully cathartic about giving up a tiny piece of control—even if it was in something as minor as silence. Hermione wasn't inclined to relinquish any more than that. Letting go wasn't in her nature; she wasn't one to throw caution to the wind. Hermione liked to have a plan. She wanted to know _what_ would happen and when, and if it took too long to decipher any of that, she became irritated.

The idea of not knowing made her want to figure it out _more_.

Today, the lack of control irritated her… as did his presence.

As soon as he'd arrived, Theo had pulled up a chair just to intensely analyse a cactus that was as straightforward as a prickly plant could be.

It didn't warrant scrutiny.

"Would you like more tea?" Hermione asked in what was such a diversion from their status quo that he actually seemed surprised when she spoke. The only flicker of emotion that registered was the slight way he drew back.

Then probing green eyes fell on _her._ He was meddling… _again_.

"No thank you," he replied slowly before taking the final sip and placing the teacup on the table next to the cactus. Theo sat back in his chair, looking out the glass pane where her extensive herb garden was on full display. It was cloudy, but it wouldn't rain until tomorrow, at the earliest. She knew the sight of row after row of crops wasn't the most entertaining of sights, but she couldn't tell by looking at him. Without turning around, Theo asked, "How are things with Narcissa?"

Immediately, she felt stupid. She should have known the real reason behind his visit.

"What do _you_ think?" Hermione closed her book with a snap and arched an eyebrow at him. "Better yet, what do _you_ know?"

"A lot." His initial response would have been as irritating as silence, but she knew what he really meant. _Everything_. The totality of his knowledge was more of a mystery. When Hermione sat up from her semi-reclined position, she placed the book on the table next to the cactus and his teacup. "I think starting over is a good idea."

Ah, so they had talked. Likely today, as Narcissa had slept late into the afternoon.

"Why are you here today?" The question flashed in her head like neon lights. She couldn't help but be blinded by it, nor could she stop it from coming out.

It was no secret that he had a stake in Narcissa's care, a reason why he needed her to live as long as possible, but to what extent and _why_ … Well, that was a mystery she hadn't solved nor thought about since an even bigger one came into focus: Draco Malfoy.

Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the thighs of his slate grey trousers and knotting his hands together. "I could say tomorrow is the full moon and. In addition to obtaining an update on your assignment, I could also say that I'm here as a friend to offer my assistance in securing your wards. But I doubt you'd believe me."

"You would be correct. As you already know, I fixed the diversion wards. I told you that last week." Hermione stared him down, mouth pulled tight. "Besides, your concern about my wards is a bit _personal_ for you."

"Everything is personal at some level because everything involves people, their emotions, and their devotions."

"You're talking in circles."

"No," he clipped. "I'm speaking the truth."

Hermione thought about laying out her argument—yes, he _was_ speaking in riddles, but Sisyphus' eternal punishment of forever rolling a boulder up a hill in the depths of Hades was less of a waste of time than arguing with Theo.

"Emotion and devotion are not your thing."

"And you know this, _how_?" He challenged with a dark look.

"Because I do." Hermione knew Theo had a family of his own creation and had been single for _years_. So long that—until recently, with Draco Malfoy back on the market—he had been the number one bachelor in wizarding London. He had dated several witches, but never long enough to be considered serious.

Naturally, there were speculations as to why—Parvati had a list as longer than the essays Snape had made them write for Potions—but when asked by Witch Weekly and other media sources who reported such drivel, Theo always remained tactfully coy.

More mystery, less truth.

He was good at that.

"Interesting." Theo's response to her comment was as dry as it was curt.

"You just don't strike me as the sort that dabbles with emotions. You're practical. Detached." It felt more like she was digging her own grave, nailing the coffin shut with her inside. She shifted uncomfortably, awkwardly tucking away the fringe that framed her face.

For several excruciating moments, Theo remained silent as he stared between her and the cactus.

Finally, he snorted. "I suppose it takes one to know one."

Hermione winced at the low blow. "Out of the two of us, only one has been in a serious relationship, and I hate to break it to you, but it _isn't_ you."

" _I_ hate to break it to _you_ , Granger, but one relationship doesn't put you on a higher pedestal. It doesn't mean that you were happier, loved more, or were even more honest. Perhaps you were at some point with Weasley, but I digress."

Theo stood and gravitated towards the glass wall in her conservatory, staring straight ahead as he took in the scene.

A quick glance over his shoulder was all she got before he spoke again in a voice so distant it was almost lost in time. "There are several things required for two people to form a connection, and a relationship status isn't one."

It stung with a poignance that shouldn't have left her unsettled. But it did. It made Hermione question established truths about Theo. She'd always thought of him as someone above it all, both too smart and not inclined to engage in normal human follies or irrational emotions. Love wasn't rational. It was unpredictable and unquantifiable—two things Theo didn't entertain.

Or maybe he did.

Maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought.

"Who was she?"

His entire body went rigid. "Nobody."

Tucking the lie away for later investigation, Hermione sighed at the cactus and joined him at the window. Clouds were slowly rolling in, further blocking the sun. The wind had picked up, judging from the swaying of the trees in the distance. The silence between them was full of unvoiced conversations.

In a move that halted her drifting thoughts, Theo spoke, his eyes still on the forest. "Any regrets about accepting Narcissa Malfoy as a patient?"

She mulled it over. "Despite our obvious differences, I can say I've only mentally quit thirteen times since the start of the month." And every last reason she stayed had less and less to do with her actual job.

"How…" He paused to rephrase his question, surely reconfiguring to mask his real intentions. "How are things? I'd ask Narcissa, but she's excellent at making someone feel very informed when, in fact, they don't know anything." Too true. "Scorpius doesn't speak." Which made Hermione look at him. "And Draco is vague."

Hermione snorted inelegantly and didn't feel sorry about it. "An understatement."

Theo hummed in agreement. "He has no trouble speaking to you."

"A recent development born out of tea and early morning conversation I've goaded him into."

"Draco grew up with the belief that he was better than everyone simply because of his wealth, surname, and the supposed purity of his blood. His entire life that belief was fostered by the false smiles and feigned niceties of people who kissed his arse because of who he was. He learned a very harsh lesson about how people _actually_ felt about his family during the war, and also after. _Especially_ after."

Hermione was struck by the memory of people _rejoicing_ when his father died. She stopped to think about the effect that might have had on Malfoy's perception. It didn't change until the circumstances of his death emerged in Narcissa's book. Then it became far messier and more complicated. Now most people won't even talk about it.

"The variables Draco _can_ control, he does, and that includes the people he allows around him." He glanced at her, but said nothing else.

"Funny, he said that I don't fit your criteria of friends."

Theo's eyes flashed, but his voice remained even. "And that is?"

"You have an affinity for picking up wayward purebloods."

"Or _people_." He chuckled. "You fit in more than you know."

"I'm not—" Hermione stopped herself, filling in the last word in the silence. _Lost_.

But… she had been. And judging from Theo's raised brow, he knew.

To find a lost soul, one had to know what to look for. They had to have been lost at one point, too. The idea seemed preposterous, as Theo was probably the most put-together person she knew… but there was something that needled her. While improbable, the idea also was entirely plausible.

"Are you still lost?"

For several minutes, he didn't answer, then he backed away from the window, returned to his chair. and resumed his examination of the cactus. "Are _you_?"

"No, I'm happy as I am with what I have. I've found purpose and love for what I do and my life…"

"I feel like there's a _but_ here."

Hermione sighed. "Perhaps… I want more. I suppose that's natural."

"Growth _is_ part of the human condition." Theo's look bordered on amusement.

"You sound like a therapist."

"I know I do. _Mine_."

That was stunning; Theo had just willingly given her personal information. "I didn't know—"

"Everyone in our year ought to be in therapy—at least in some capacity."

That was an incredibly fair point.

They both laughed—Theo's was more like a chuckle, but the humour was still there. Still, they lapsed into another silence, but it didn't last long.

"I suppose he could be worse." Hermione wrapped her arms around her middle. "He could still be the same Malfoy from Hogwarts, who would have certainly refused to help me out of sheer spite." But instead he was the one who filled in the gaps in her charts surrounding the escalation of his mother's condition. "It was—"

Theo blinked. "He helped?"

"A few weeks ago he came by and answered all my questions. I sent them over to Roger because he's now interested."

"He didn't tell me he was helping past correcting her potion."

"Well, he owed me a favour."

"Ah, yes, Draco hates owing anyone anything."

"He's…" Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. _Different_ didn't seem to encompass the complexity of his character. Nor did strange, but those were the only words she had right then. So, Hermione allowed them to trail off, allowed the unfinished sentence to hang in the air and dissipate without a fitting end.

"He's not as convoluted as you think."

"You _just_ said he was vague."

"He's a lot of things." Theo shrugged. "Not all of them are consistent or congruent, but that's why you're curious about him."

Hermione froze, feeling hot and cold at the same time. "I'm—"

"You are."

She knew better than to argue with him on this. It wasn't like he was _wrong_ , but hearing it out loud forced a swell of unidentifiable… strangeness to rise up in her. She did the only thing she knew to do…

She ignored it.

Still, Theo's tone was as collected as she was _not_. "It's normal for someone like you to be curious about something you don't understand. Admittedly, not much falls outside the purview of your knowledge, so when something sparks, it catches fire and burns."

Hermione said nothing.

"Duality is something you find fascinating in theory because the idea of being two-fold appeals to your linear way of thinking, but you don't like it so much when you see it day after day in Draco."

No, she didn't. Hermione was woman enough to admit that—but only to herself.

It wasn't a question, so Hermione said nothing in response, only stared past him.

"He doesn't make sense because duality is not about only one thing or another. Completely good or bad. Right or wrong. It's more about the clash between a man's morality and will, and where on the spectrum he will find himself at the end of the battle."

Something laced in his words caught her attention. "Where did you end up?"

"Presumptuous of you to assume I have it all figured it out."

"You don't?" Hermione watched him examine the cactus as if there were some philosophical wisdom hidden between the spines. "You seem to have everyone else categorised in neat boxes."

"And you don't?" Green eyes cut over to her. "Your world is segmented by the boxes you place everything in. My advice to you? Stop over-analysing the reasons why something _won't_ fit in your neat little boxes and find a spot _where_ it will."

* * *

Everything about Roger's desk was still neat, tidy, and efficiently ordered, but the man himself looked tired. There were ink smudges on his finger that jittered like he hadn't had enough caffeine… or maybe too much. He was looking for something, body bent over, half visible from her spot across the desk as he swore quietly to himself.

Roger's name had appeared on her Magi-Scheduler shortly after she had returned home from having dinner with Scorpius and Narcissa, who was nearly back to full-form. She was surprised by the abrupt request, but thirty minutes later, she was in his office, drinking a glass of water and wondering just what he thought was important enough to request her after hours.

"Ah, thank you for coming so late," Roger righted himself while placing a stack of files on his overly-clean desk. "I was wondering if you could spare some time to review these charts for me."

She peered at the pile, counting at least forty charts stuffed with parchment. "Is this for your research?"

"Not right now. There aren't enough subjects and we're stretched thin as it is."

Which was true. "What does it pertain to?"

"Narcissa Malfoy." Roger patted the stack of folders. "These are the files of American witches and wizards who have been diagnosed with her illness within the five last years. Some living, some not. Each one has a list of the patient's potions, and tracks everything up to their current state unless they've already succumbed to the disease. I also managed to obtain the notes regarding the experimental potion they're creating in hopes that it will slow the progression."

Interest morbidly piqued, which was normal for Healers—he _was_ presenting her with a Gringotts vault of information that was virtually priceless—Hermione sat up straighter and sat the glass of water on the table. The American Healer hadn't been willing to release patient files, as it violated their laws regarding privacy.

"How did you—"

"Called in a few favours. I've only been able to acquire the files of patients that have previously signed waivers." The wizard shrugged like it wasn't an ordeal, but Hermione knew otherwise. "Perhaps these could help assist you with tracking her disease's progression."

"That would be great."

"And perhaps you could join the research team. Head the research efforts. Maybe even come up with a better treatment that will slow it down."

Hermione froze. "Is this a job offer?"

Roger sat back in his chair, elbows on the arms. "Yes and no, it depends."

"On what?"

"Well, you would have to find a replacement to work with Narcissa Malfoy."

Ah, there it was. Hermione barely contained her surprise. "Does Theo know?"

"No, I figured if you were interested, I would present my proposal to him."

She _did_ consider it. Really, she did. But her brain ran quickly through the positives, negatives, and neutrals. First and foremost, Narcissa and their contract. The time she needed. The progress and setbacks she had made. Would she be able to transition smoothly to another Healer? Would such a drastic change be conducive to Narcissa's health? There was no answer.

Besides, Hermione had _just_ gotten Keating and Sachs on her side through sheer strength of will. Perhaps she would get Malfoy, as well. Only time would tell, but not if she turned her case over to another Healer. It really would be unfair to throw someone else into the strange Malfoy family dynamic. She could practically see all the progress going down the drain. It would be a drastic change to the odd routine she was _just_ getting used to…

And then her argument shifted to a little nugget of truth in the corner.

The idea of not seeing Scorpius anymore—just when he was starting to _trust_ her—made her insides twist. The amalgamation of each factor, each argument, success and failure—plus one nugget of truth—made her answer very clear.

"I'll have to pass on that."

"Oh?" Roger seemed flummoxed by her answer. "I thought you would at least take a few days to think about it. You don't strike me as the sort to make rash decisions."

"My decision isn't rash. I've weighed all my options and this is my answer. I'd still like to look through the files, if at all possible, and I think it's brilliant that you are looking to do research into her disease, but I can't abandon my patient."

It seemed as though he had been expecting her response, at least in some capacity, as there was an understanding in his slow nod. Why had he asked?

"Can't say that I didn't try." The wizard clasped his hands together. "I've wanted you on the research side of the department for years now."

"Perhaps one day."

Roger's disbelief was clear, but he didn't have an opportunity to say anything else before the hospital alarms blared loudly in the silence and the lights in his office went from soft white to flashing blue.

They were about to get an influx of patients.

A moment passed, and they blinked at each other in confusion.

Then jolted out their chairs.

While Roger grabbed his vial holster and wand, Hermione cringed. Not only was she too far from her office to grab her own gear, she wasn't properly dressed to comfortably triage incoming patients in her jeans and orange shirt either. But she followed Roger out.

It didn't take long for them to find the chaos in the hospital's waiting area.

Blessedly, they weren't the first Healers on the scene. It seemed like every Healer in the building had descended on the area. Padma was already in action, blood on her robes unnoticed as she performed Healing Charms on a sooty Auror who was gushing from an open wound on his leg.

They were _all_ covered in soot and coughing.

Hermione's pulse set a frenzied beat while time slowed. Realisation caused panic to flare deep in her gut. _The raid._ And by the looks of it, by the dozens of injured, bleeding Aurors and Task Force members… it hadn't gone to plan. Immediately, she struggled against the mounting sense of dread, trying desperately to maintain her logic and professional calm.

Harry was fine. He was always fine. He _had_ to be fine.

He also had no reason to be in trouble.

Right.

When she spotted them surveying the area, Padma ran over to catch them up. "Looks like the raid went tits up, and from what I've been told, a Death Eater cast Fiendfyre. The entire manor went up in flames. Surprisingly, no deaths." Hermione exhaled her relief. "Forty injured, but almost all of them only have smoke in their lungs. We're triaging down here and taking the more seriously injured to our floor, where we've got the most beds. " She pointed in a general area. "Hermione, start over there. Roger, you should go assist with the transport."

Hermione barely waited for her to finish before she took off running towards the commotion, searching for a familiar dark head, even as she fell into emergency protocol.

Whatever had happened had been ugly. A battle she hadn't heard the likes of since the Battle of Malfoy Manor. The information she _had_ gathered from scattered conversations was slightly promising, but mostly grim.

The raid, despite appearing like an obvious failure with all the injuries, had mostly been a success—well, in the sense that nobody had _died_. The Fiendfyre hadn't been cast until the Death Eaters had started losing ground, but it had spread swiftly. In a roar that had apparently looked like a python, it brought back chilling memories of her own experience with flames determined to snuff out all life. Everyone had escaped by Disapparating, but Hermione recalled the plan had a lot to do with setting up wards to prevent Apparition— _in or out_.

_What happened?_

It was all a blur of single-minded focus and activity. Suppressing her questions, she went from patient to patient to patient, as she lost all sense of time and space. More than cuts and bruises, there were patients who were hexed and cursed—all unconscious despite reviving spells and potions. They would need beds. Others had broken bones and mangled limbs that would take ages to heal.

_Burns_ ranged from minor to horrific.

After what felt like an hour, four vials of dittany, and every pain potion and Calming Draught she had in her beaded bag, Hermione found herself finishing up with the last patient. She caught sight of other Healers looking around for any additional patients, but she was pretty certain she was the only one looking for a particular person.

That she hadn't found.

Hermione assisted two Mediwitches with delivering the last of the critically injured—an unconscious Task Force member with a suspicious bite mark on his neck and arm. Only then did she realise they had merely transferred the chaos from one part of the hospital to another.

The hall was lined on both sides with floating gurneys, all of which were filled. Healers and Mediwitches were buzzing from patient to patient in a cacophony of noises that ranged from barking orders to general chatter.

Organised disorder seemed to work for them.

A Mediwitch was there to accept the patient while Hermione recited his injuries and diagnoses. The harried witch nodded with understanding. "He's my fourth one with extensive bite marks. _Human_ bite marks."

Which was alarming, but also confirmation that all the inner circle of Death Eaters had been there, including a deranged Greyback. The night before a full moon. He must have been indescribably bloodthirsty. She shuddered at the thought and at what his victims had experienced and everyone else had witnessed.

"How bad?"

"They'll survive." Her wince told the entire story. "Barely."

Hermione shuddered and allowed the Mediwitch to take charge, continuing on and doing what she could as she made her way down the hall and used the last of her third bottle of dittany on several patients. It wouldn't completely heal them, but it would make things marginally better until they could be healed properly.

Curiously, at the end of the hall, there was a small gathering of Healers, Medwitches, and various patients that had already been healed. They were whispering back and forth to each other when Hermione slipped through the group. She spotted Susan sitting in a chair outside a room.

The door was shut but it couldn't block out the shouts from within.

"I didn't make a mistake! I did what I thought was right!"

She knew that voice. _Harry._

He must have slipped past in the chaos. She was happy to hear him—even though he sounded angry.

"And it would have worked had they not started the fire! Maybe if you—"

"Don't try to turn this around on me. _I_ wasn't the one that fucked up, _Potter!_ "

The mystery of who her best friend was accosting was solved when Hermione heard the deeper voice ring out.

_Malfoy_.

With a new sense of urgency, she approached Susan. "How long?" Hermione thumbed in the direction of the shut door, where the two wizards were now shouting over each other in a deafening cacophony.

"Not long."

Just getting started, then.

Another look caused the seated witch to talk. "I was assigned to patch Harry up—he's got a head laceration and bruised ribs."

Wait… they weren't supposed to be part of the fight. "Okay."

"Before I could do anything, Malfoy stormed in, told me to get the fuck out, and then shut the door behind him. They've been yelling ever since. I would have cast a Muffliato, but—" Susan shrugged with a wince. Probably best that she didn't if someone needed to intervene. "I also would have broken it up, but _that_ " —she gesticulated in their general direction, their voices clashing together like a wall of sound—"is above my pay grade."

Fair, but it wasn't above _hers_.

At best, them screaming at each other was confirmation that neither were incapacitated.

Oh, and that homicide hadn't been committed.

_Yet._

At worst, well—Hermione thought it best not to consider worst-case scenarios.

After glancing over her shoulder at the mounting audience of worn-looking Aurors and Task Force members, Hermione glared. "I'm _certain_ you all have better things to do right now. Go home. There will likely be a debrief in the morning." She didn't wait for an answer before turning and setting a charm that silenced the rapidly devolving argument.

Multiple footsteps scattered in all available directions. _Good._

Hermione put her hand on the knob and took a breath. Before she opened it, Susan asked, "How long before you want me to come in?"

"Five minutes." That was an awfully bold assumption, they both knew, but Hermione knew nothing beat failure but trying. "Then come in and finish healing Harry."

"Malfoy's going to need one, too."

"Come again?"

"Not sure, but his arm is… _rough_." The other witch offered a shrug. "At best, dislocated. At worst, broken."

Hermione kept that in mind when she entered the room, eyes immediately landing on her current headache: Harry in Auror robes and Malfoy in his standard black attire. Neither fit the image of someone that should have been at a raid. She tried to figure out what they were saying, but they were both dirty, sweaty, and yelling furious, unintelligible words. It took Hermione back to Fifth Year quidditch before the fists started flying.

After a quick visual sweep of them both—noting the blood on Harry's face and the way Malfoy was holding his arm—she intervened, physically inserting herself between the two worked up men by pushing them apart.

"That's enough!" Hermione yelled and when Harry tried to argue, she grabbed the front of his Auror robes. " _Enough_ ," she repeated fiercely before whipping her head to Malfoy and blocking his attempt to yell over her by spreading her hand on his chest. She felt heat coming off Malfoy, not Harry, but they both _smelled_ like smoke and fire. There was a rigid, cruel set in his jaw, an almost dangerous energy about him that put her on edge.

But she wasn't scared.

" _Granger_ …" His voice was a low, measured warning; the result of either extreme anger or perfect self-control. The way his heart pounded under her hand didn't provide any clarity.

Either way, she knew she was pushing it _and_ him.

But that wasn't enough to make her stop.

Malfoy grabbed her wrist firmly with his uninjured hand, forcing it into the space between them. A scowl marred his soot-streaked face. In direct contrast with his eyes, his hand was warm and dry as he gripped her wrist like a flesh covered vice. He let go after they both glanced down, then back at each other. Hermione held his attention a moment longer before switching back to Harry, who seemed curiously confused.

Now that she had their attention, she cleared her throat. "I don't know what happened tonight, or what went wrong during the raid, but you're both _leaders_ —not _children_." Her words were calm and even, strengthened by the cool steel in her voice. "It's bad enough your teams heard you fighting. This isn't the place, _nor_ is it the time to blame each other for what happened. There are _injured_ people out there who need you both to _lead_."

Naturally, Harry was the first to speak. "I—forgot to set the charm."

"Yes, you _both_ did." She glimpsed over at the other seemingly unrepentant wizard. With a roll of her eyes, Hermione returned her attention to the easier of the two: her best friend. Harry's temper, unfortunately, was trying to flare back to life in response to Malfoy's nonchalance, but she swiftly cut him down, in a practiced move that silenced him, with an audible clack of teeth.

_Perfect._

"What happened?".

"Yes, _Potter_ ," Malfoy sneered with the utmost disdain. From the corner of her eye, she could see the vein on his neck becoming more prominent. "Tell her what _happened_."

Before Harry's indignation rose beyond his control and he started slinging verbal mud, Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Focus on me. Not him."

It worked.

Sort of.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, only to wince in pain. Probably broken. Quick fix. "One of the newbies tripped the wards before the Ward Specialist could take them down, which not only alerted them to our presence, but made it impossible for us to properly set up Anti-Apparition wards. Goldstein told us to call it off, but I—"

"Because it was _compromised_ and like the reckless—"

With a firm hand, Hermione pushed against Malfoy's chest, raising her eyes to meet his with a critical but composed look. "Let him finish, Draco."

As soon as the word was out, they both froze.

A priceless combination of disbelief and surprise forced Malfoy to take a step back, still guarding his arm. Something was seriously wrong with his shoulder, not that it mattered, with the intense way he surveyed her, eyes travelling to her hand and back up. There was an inexplicable shift in his energy, though not menacing, his eyes were sharp enough to cut diamonds.

She inhaled and exhaled, lowered her hand, and turned her back to him, facing Harry, whose dark brows were furrowed and his jaw clenched tight until she nudged him. "Go on."

His eyes met Malfoy's over her head in a silent clash, but she nudged Harry with her foot and sternly folded her arms across her chest.

"I didn't want to waste the opportunity, the time we'd spent training, so I didn't call it off when Goldstein said that we should." Harry argued his point more to the wizard standing behind her. "Who knows when we would have the opportunity again."

Malfoy obviously disagreed.

She couldn't see him, but she could feel his presence—visceral and furious.

"I know you're just waiting until the Death Eaters are captured to quit, so don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing so you can quit earlier. Don't act like you wouldn't have made the call to continue—"

"Of course I am. But I can't fucking quit if I'm _dead_ , now can I?"

Harry's snort lacked humour. "You're a such a—"

"I'm such a _what_?" Malfoy took an unconscious step forward, now pressed against Hermione's back. "The only thing _I am_ is the person that saved your ungrateful arse."

"I had it under control!"

" _Nothing_ about that raid was under control. If it weren't for me grabbing you when I Disapparated—you're welcome for that, by the way—you'd be burnt to a bloody crisp."

Hermione winced.

As much as it pained her to disagree with Harry, it sounded really bad all around.

"McNair and Rabastan are injured, you and we still captured nine Death Eaters _and_ Jugson and Avery." Of course, Harry would find the bright spot among the darkness.

"Outside of those two, the rest are low-level, none of the ones that matter." Namely his uncles. Or Greyback and Rowle. Malfoy was unimpressed. "None of the ones that will cause a major shake-up in their organisation. The only thing tonight did was put a _bigger_ target on our families' backs." He sounded incensed by that. _Worried_. And it brought forth the image of Scorpius. _Oh._ "They saw us _both_ there, thanks to you charging in like the fucking _hero_ you are."

_Hero_ sounded more like excrement on the sole of his shoe.

"I was protecting my team and _doing my job!_ I couldn't just sit back and—"

"You were a distraction in a situation that was already a complete and utter _shitshow_!"

"And _you_ weren't? As soon as you came in, they—"

Hermione tuned the rest out. She had heard enough to know that a resolution wouldn't be reached that night. Or at all. It was late and they both needed medical attention.

The knock on the door was timed perfectly, but the person Hermione expected to see wasn't there. Instead, Theo entered the room, with Susan trailing behind him, smiling in a squirmy sort of way.

"Uh, we were just checking." Susan waved awkwardly, dark hair falling over her shoulder. "Theo said he was here to heal Malfoy's shoulder."

The two men exchanged a series of increasingly complicated expressions, which was practically a conversation as far as she was concerned. Malfoy stepped back and left without another word, passing both Theo and Susan. The former followed him out without a single word.

It was such an odd exchange, but she was too tired to mull it over. Besides, Harry needed to be healed and sent home to his family. The fallout of tonight's raid would still be waiting for him in the morning.

"I can heal Harry." Hermione patted the bag she had looped in her belt buckle at some point in the commotion.

"Great, I'll find Roger and help him."

The door shut behind Susan with a soft click.

Now that they were alone, Harry deflated like a punctured balloon.

Sitting on the bed, he scrubbed his face repeatedly, the stress rolling off him in waves. In a voice both brittle and dark, Harry said, "He's right."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"I really _was_ reckless. I lost my head." He shook his head, fixing his glasses, which were still dirty with soot. Just like him. "I should have listened, and because I didn't, I put everyone's lives at risk for my own selfish reasons."

"I don't think—"

"There was a Dark Mark over my house this afternoon when I got home."

Hermione's heart sank. "What?"

"The door was kicked in and the house was in shambles. Nothing taken, but they left a message on the walls. No one was home and I _panicked_." For a moment, he looked close to tears. "I thought…"

Hermione filled in the blanks.

He thought that he was too late. Again. That his family was gone. _Again_.

"They were at the Burrow the entire time, Molly was fitting James for his sweater. They're _still_ at the Burrow now. Ginny didn't want the kids to see, but we're thinking of sending them off for the Summer while we look for a new house. Bill offered to take them."

She knew he didn't like it—Hermione didn't either—but it was a good idea.

_For safety._

"You know, if there's anything I can do. If you want them to come stay—"

"I know you will, but your hands are full with work. I don't want to put them on you."

"It's not an issue, Harry. You know how much I love them."

"I know." Harry drew in a few breaths. "Ginny and I will think it over some more and let you know, okay?"

That was fair enough.

Hermione filled the silence that followed, not with words, but with actions. Diagnostic results appeared on the charmed parchment at his bedside. She didn't see any lingering effects from any spells he'd been hit with, so Hermione healed his broken nose with a wave of her wand, and dripped three drops of Dittany on his head wound. He had a burn on the back of his hand that would need some extra work, but outside of the soot he was covered in, the stress of his job, the consequences of an awful raid, and the weighty concern for his family, Harry was fine.

That would have to do for now.

"Tonight wasn't about me being a hero. None of this is. I took this job knowing I'd be working with Malfoy on this and I just—" Harry exhaled his brittle frustration. "It's _always_ been about eliminating the threat against my family. The threat against us all. It's exhausting looking over my shoulder, wondering when and where they'll turn up. I hate that I have to teach my kids how to fight and tell them what to do if they're attacked. I hate that they have bodyguards watching their schools. I had the opportunity tonight to end it once and for all and… Well, after this afternoon, I was acting on fear and—" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had, but if Malfoy were in my shoes, I'm certain he would have done the same thing."

Hermione thought about his security measures and wards. The rules and guidelines for those who entered his home. The background searches. His paranoia. The fact that Malfoy picked up an entire career just so he wouldn't be at the mercy of those who didn't give a damn about what happened to any member of his family…

The questions asked itself.

"How do you know that he isn't?"

Hermione excused herself from Harry's room when Hestia turned up and requested his side of events with a grimace. She'd already spoken to Malfoy. Hermione could only imagine how that conversation had gone. It was hard to gauge the time, but the halls were empty, and the earlier chaos seemed to have settled. It didn't look like she would be needed so Hermione started for the Floo.

Pausing mid-step, she rerouted with a new destination in mind.

Theo's office door was open.

The man himself wasn't there, but Malfoy was. Standing in front of the fireplace, arms folded, he stared at nothing. He was striking. Imposing. The fury that had been pouring from him earlier was now muted. Caged. And because Hermione has no interest in waking it up again, she knocked once.

"There's no need to—" His face shifted from exasperation to bored irritation when he saw her—one of his default expressions. "What do you want?"

"I came by to see if Theo needed a hand healing your shoulder."

Malfoy rolled his once injured shoulder. "As you can see, I'm fine." There was a slight hesitation in his movement, a stiff grimace that spoke of the pain. Given his continued discomfort, his shoulder injury couldn't be new.

"I can give you something for the pain." Digging into her bag, Hermione was determined to do just that. She crossed the room until she was standing in front of him, and offered him the vial.

"I don't need it." Malfoy fixed his cuff. "I actually need to go home and reinforce security measures over my home due to Potter's ineptitude. I advise that you do the same."

"Harry's h—"

"You're not on duty to mediate tonight, Granger, so if that's your reason for coming here, don't bother wasting your breath."

Hermione worried her teeth on her bottom lip before speaking carefully selected words. "For what it's worth, thanks for saving him." She placed the pain potion vial on the mantle and turned, intent to leave him to his thoughts with two parting words: "Take it."

From the doorway, Hermione glanced over her shoulder in time to see Malfoy pick up the vial, examine it closely, grip it tight in his fist, and slip it into his pocket.

_The primary paradox that man is superior to all the things around him and yet is at their mercy._

**G.K. Chesterton**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers remain the same.
> 
> A/N: First, thanks for all the well wishes. Covid absolutely sucks but I'm getting through it. Second, thanks to my awesome beta dreamsofdramione. Third, thank you for all the reviews. I'm legitimately blown away by the love and support and I hope you all have enjoyed this week's long anticipated playdate (of sorts). Do you all know how hard that was to keep under wraps? Phew. Also idk if I mentioned a part where I cried like a baby while writing...well it was when Scorpius pretty much witnessed Narcissa's incident. *chokes back a sob* because my heart hurt the whole time. And then it recovered when she took Narcissa to task in his defense. Also ouch that raid. And THEO coming in to steal scenes. That part is one I've literally waited MONTHS to post. The dichotomy of man. That one man. :D Til next week.
> 
> inadaze22


	15. The Great Divide

**Fifteen**

_The Great Divide_

_**June 15, 2011** _

It was after two when Hermione closed her eyes, but sleep did not come willingly.

Or at all.

That was how sleeplessness worked.

Insomnia wasn't a battle Hermione fought often, but she was stressed about a host of things that were coming into focus, and it had to manifest somehow. She found it odd how clearly she could see things from a different angle in the haze of lucid exhaustion. How everything became vibrant and loud—too much for senses to handle. To lull herself, Hermione opened her window and tried to listen to the sounds of the night: the distant animal noises, the crickets, the breeze. But nothing worked.

Her wards notified her of an arrival via Apparition.

 _Ron_.

And he was there for all the reasons she was still awake.

Hermione pulled herself from bed, pushed her feet into her slippers, and ventured downstairs, where she found Ron sitting at the island in pyjamas. He'd brought his own sleep aid: brandy.

She sat down and he poured them both a glass before nudging one over to her.

"You know I don't like brandy."

Ron shrugged and drank his in a single gulp, then hers. Knowing it was going to be one of those nights, she got up and prepared the nightcap of her choice: wine.

Particularly, Pinot Noir.

It was already open anyway.

Time was a series of moments that passed them by. She and Ron used each wisely by drinking in silence, not looking at each other. For a while they simply existed together. Ron remained on the stool, pouring himself two more, while Hermione sipped her wine as she stood on the other side of the island. Then indulged in a second glass.

The silence between them was strangely comfortable, the air pleasant in a different way that—for once—wasn't weighed down by their history of mistakes. Hermione found she didn't want the moment to end just yet. Not for any sentimental reason, but if they were silent, they weren't fighting.

Despite everything—thousands of harsh words, slammed doors, unloved moments, and heartache between them—she hated fighting with Ron. She didn't love him, no, but that didn't mean she didn't care about him. And he was here for a reason.

Hermione hadn't eaten in hours, and it didn't take long for the wine to take hold as warmth to flood her veins.

"Let's sit outside." She didn't wait for Ron to agree, knowing he would follow.

And he did, leaving his drink behind along with her wine, one step behind her until they reached the magical swing that hung from nothing. Ron settled on one end, and Hermione on the other. The space between them was small yet vast. Their presence triggered the orbs hovering over the garden to glow, providing all the light they needed, which wasn't much, just enough to see Ron's pale features in the darkness.

Because her tongue was loose, her question tumbled out. "Why are you here?"

"I just left the Burrow with my family." Ron stretched an arm across the back of the swing, looking out over the garden. "Harry just got back before I came through. He told me what happened at the raid, and combined with what happened at their house, I just…" Ron stared in the distance at nothing as the swing took them high enough for his feet to dangle.

"Have you seen the kids?" She planned to wait until after Narcissa left after breakfast to go visit them. "How are they?"

"They don't know anything, and Ginny and Harry think it's best we keep it like that."

That made sense.

"And Ginny?"

He gave her a critical look; they both knew how Ginny was: not good, but keeping it together for her family. A coping mechanism she'd inherited from Molly.

"How are _you,_ Hermione?"

"Fine." Hermione looked heavenward only to be disappointed by the clouds that covered the stars. Even the full moon was barely visible. There was a cool, humid breeze in the air indicative of rain. "And you? Couldn't sleep?"

"Yeah." Ron rubbed the back of his head. "Too much on my mind. Thought you might be in the same mood."

"What's on your mind?" Hermione pushed her hair behind her shoulder and let it hang free over the back of the swing. She knew Ron well enough to know when he was thinking serious and meaningful thoughts. His face went uncomfortably rigid and his jaw seemed to work in such a way that made her think he was reciting words without moving his lips.

"I was just thinking… between the missing Auror that turned up over here and what happened at Harry and Ginny's, it's not good for you to be alone."

"I corrected the diversion wards and my protection wards weren't breached in the incident. They're strong." Stronger than Harry's, if she were being honest, not that he could do much about it. The strength of her wards interfered with some of the more necessary things in her friend's home: the kids' electronics, which were more than necessary to keep the peace.

"Yes, but they might know where you are. Or have a better idea of the area. They practically sent a _prisoner_ to tell you this, _Hermione_. How are you not _worried_?"

"I _am_ worried, but I refuse to live in fear. I'm doing what I can to protect myself and my home."

Ron shifted on the swing, bringing his bent knee into the space between them. "I live in the city, I can blend in, but you practically live in isolation. If anything were to happen—"

"I'll call for help just like I did last time. I'm not defenseless, Ron."

His response was a sigh full of disappointment. "Hermione…"

"What?"

Ron's impatience was palpable. "Tonight's the full moon. Do I need to remind you that Greyback is out there? He's been after you since—"

"I don't need the reminder." His monthly howls served as enough of a reminder that he was waiting. Always waiting. "I'm well aware of the threat he poses. But if you must know, Pansy yelled her way into forcing me to spend the night at her flat once we leave from visiting Dean, Daphne, and Halia."

"At least _someone's_ talked some sense into you, but what about the rest of the time? I can stay in the guest room. Just until things cool down."

"I like that idea even less."

"I know what you're thinking, but it's not like that. I'm really worried about your safety out here. You live alone, and I know your wards are strong, but what if—" He made a frustrated noise. "Harry's house was warded, too, and look what happened. He thinks they were followed at some point, that they're still being watched. It'll only get worse until they're all captured."

"I can handle it." Hermione bunched up the sleeves of her oversized shirt and folded her arms across her chest.

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes, anger and discontent rolling off him in tangible surges. "Just like _always_ , you're too dependent on yourself and too prideful to ask for help. You've always been too—"

Her glare could melt concrete. "I'll ask for help when I need it."

"That's bullshit and you _know_ it, Hermione." Ron huffed again, and she knew it was a blatant attempt to retain the last tattered shreds of his temper. His voice sounded like Vesuvius getting ready for a day's work. "Not _once_ did you ask for help before your seizure—"

"I'm not arguing anymore about this." The beginnings of a headache were forming, and she had no idea if it was due to the wine or the argument. Maybe both. Ron looked away, scoffing in disbelief while she rubbed the stiffness from the side of her neck. "I understand where you're coming from, but I don't need you to stay here. You of all people should know I'm capable of defending myself."

The heart of their persistent tension had been unmasked with her statement, and though the wine tried to hold the fragile peace they'd found, it likely wouldn't be enough to keep one of them from storming off.

As per usual.

Like air itself, which was never quite still, the silence that fell between them was full of turbulence, patches of resistance and pockets of attenuation. Hermione found herself struggling in the breeze of her fight against the urge to apologise, even though she wasn't quite sure what for.

For her independence? Her refusal to see his way?

Or the fact that she didn't need him?

Ron started chuckling in a throaty tone that sounded quite Hermione-oriented: a mix of exasperation, futility, and resentment with a bit of _why the fuck am I doing this?_ thrown in sparingly for luck.

"You know…" He absently nodded his head at nothing. "I spent a lot of time thinking about what you said a few weeks ago—about loving you correctly. And I've been doing what I _thought_ you wanted: giving you space. But I'm realising that it's pointless. How can I give you what you want when you don't seem to know what that is? It's _impossible_ and _frustrating_."

"It seems you've missed the point." Hermione looked out into the darkness. "It's not about giving me what I want. When I said that to you, I wasn't looking for you to stress yourself out trying. I just wanted you to understand that we speak two different languages and have different styles. We don't understand each other in that capacity, so we can't love each other correctly. I will never be what you truly want and you—" She stopped and shook her head.

"You're always talking about what _I_ want when you've got _no_ idea."

"Ron, why do you want me?" Hermione didn't need the reassurance, only interested in making her point. "Tell me."

"I—" He seemed to fumble with his words, stumbling around and his face cycled through a range of emotions. "I don't know."

* * *

_**June 16, 2011** _

Family gatherings at the Burrow were always a memorable affair.

They had a big family to start with, but with the addition of partners and spouses, friends of the family, and three grandchildren under the age of eight currently in attendance, _lively_ was an inadequate way to describe the evening. More like loud and boisterous. But Hermione enjoyed the company, the sense of being part of a family that was as nurturing as it was inclusive. She didn't have siblings, and while she couldn't complain, the idea of a large family was something she was drawn to.

Perhaps in another life.

Molly had outdone herself with a blend of dishes—she'd tried to make everyone's favourites. The house was filled with the thickness and warmth provided by her last-minute efforts. Tonight was a special occasion. Harry and Ginny were sending the kids to Shell Cottage tomorrow morning, where her friends would stay as well until the children were settled into their new home.

The mystery of how their home had been found was something the four had spent the hour before dinner speculating about while the kids played behind the Burrow, but they had come up with nothing outside of the possibility that any one of them were being tracked or followed home while taking the children to and from school.

Ron had offered up Draco Malfoy to blame, for old time's sake, but Harry, in a move that surprised both her and his past self, had wholly disregarded the idea.

Joke or not.

"Malfoy is a lot of things, but he isn't outright evil."

Ginny kicked Ron in the shin when he snorted in response. " _Grow up, Ron."_

Hermione put aside her thoughts during dinner, but found herself momentarily distracted by Molly, who looked more at peace than she had ever seen. Something would always be missing—not just Fred, but today also Charlie, Bill, and his family—but Molly chose to focus on those who were there.

As long as everyone was happy, safe, and fed, the Weasley matriarch was good.

Luna was in attendance, talking to Arthur with a serene smile about her travels, which clearly fascinated him with the wild way he was gesticulating. Neville sat next to her, a casual arm slung over the back of her chair. He always looked so proud of her, only interrupting to remind Luna about something else amazing she'd accomplished.

George had brought Angelina, who was home for the week. He seemed happy when in the shop or around his family and friends, but never more so than when she was at his side. George was smiling, poking fun at Percy as he was wont to do, about a topic Hermione couldn't hear.

Percy remained unmoved, but his ears were pink. Angelina looked fondly amused.

Ginny went back and forth from chatting with her, Harry, and Ron to glaring daggers when one of her three kids complained about the other. That time, the victim was James, who was sitting on the other side of Harry, whinging about Lily breathing too hard.

"Do I need to pull out the ' _Get Along'_ shirt?"

" _No_ , mum." James sulked, huffing hard enough for his hair to fly up. Lily smiled innocently with all teeth— _so_ precocious, just like her mother. And Al, who had wormed his way into the chair next to Hermione, stuffed so much food into his mouth that his cheeks bulged. Harry chuckled, but she couldn't tell which sight amused him more.

Probably all of it.

He generally left the more tough love to Ginny. With a mother like Molly Weasley, she was far better at it anyway.

"I swear, every day you get more and more like mum." Ron laughed. "It's scary. I don't know how you do it."

"It's a talent." With a wave of her hand, Ginny cleaned the gravy that had spilled on Lily's lime green shirt for the third time. "As well as a necessity." She wasn't looking in Al's direction, but still told him, "It's not running away, love. Take your time."

Al blushed and Hermione ruffled his hair fondly. He would have smiled if his cheeks allowed it.

The rest of dinner passed in a normal mixture of good food and steady conversation. Just after dark, the kids asked to go back outside to catch fireflies. Luna and Neville went along with Harry, George, and Ron. Ginny shooed her mother out of the kitchen before she set about cleaning everything up. Angelina helped while Hermione put on a kettle to share after they finished.

"Have you told the kids that they're leaving tomorrow?" Angelina asked.

"Not yet." Ginny ran a hand through her hair. "When they're done playing Harry and I will tell them. James and Lily will be ecstatic, but I worry about Al."

She always worried about him; Hermione did as well.

"I can stay and be here when you tell them."

"Thanks. Al's done _nothing_ except ask when he can play with Scorpius again and I just…" Ginny sighed under the weight of their circumstances on her shoulders. "I don't know what to tell him."

A heavy silence fell in the room. It was brief, lasting only a few moments, but in that time, no thoughts could be spoken that would make things better for anyone, especially Ginny, who resumed spelling the dishes back into the cupboard.

"Do you and Harry need any help sorting through everything?"

"Probably. It's just been cleared by the Curse-Breakers this morning. They didn't find anything dangerous, except the message on the wall. We're going to spend a few days with Bill and Fleur when we deliver the children, but we'll be back Monday afternoon. Percy, Ron, and Neville are coming over then to help. Dean offered, but we told him to stay home with Daphne and Halia."

"I really need to visit them," Angelina said with a small smile. "I can't believe we were all wrong about her having a girl. Luna will never let us live it down."

She and Ginny both chuckled.

No, she wouldn't.

"I'll come over," Hermione offered. "And I'll bring Pansy, who'll help you get your house together to sell. She's already agreed."

Ginny smiled graciously, obviously unsettled by the entire ordeal, but determined to keep a brave face for her children. And for Harry, who quietly took things hard. She likely would never talk about it with Hermione, that wasn't her way, but Hermione was comforted by the knowledge that Ginny would share her feelings with Harry. They were good for each other in that way.

"George and I will, too." Angelina used her wand to put away the rest of the place settings.

"No, you two haven't seen each other in nearly a month. We don—"

" _We'll be there."_

And that was that.

Hermione was the first to the table, pouring the three of them tea, but Angelina soon followed. They weren't particularly close, but they shared non-traditional views about a woman's place in wizarding society, similar musical taste, and a close bond with the Weasley family, which was as solid of a foundation as they needed.

"How's life travelling the world?"

Angelina chuckled. "About as good as ever, but I'm happy to be back. Even if it's just for the week."

" _George_ is certainly happy to see you."

"He's been… _different_ these last months." Her eyes softened with affection. "Wants to make a real go at it."

Immensely intrigued, Ginny joined the conversation fully by sitting next to Angelina, eyes practically sparkling. "You mean—"

"Maybe." She shrugged, trying and failing to suppress her smile. "We're talking about it."

Hermione clapped, grinning in excitement. Ginny was so thrilled by the prospect she squealed and flung her arms around Angelina, who rolled her eyes, but accepted the hug. They had been close for years, both due to Angelina's relationship with her brother, and the fact that they used to play for the Holyhead Harpies together before Ginny transitioned into reporting.

"It's not written in stone."

"Don't care!" Ginny exclaimed, holding on to her friend. "This is _exciting_ and _just_ the distraction I need. I've only been waiting for this moment over _ten years_!"

"We have a lot to work out." Angelina laughed, but it was weighted. "Like our careers, for one. I'm not ready to retire, and George would never ask me to, but I know we both need more than a week or so every month." It sounded like Angelina had a lot on her mind. "I'm honestly trying to contend with the idea of _actually_ wanting a family _and_ a career, but I do." Her laugh was slightly hysterical. "I want it _all_."

"Who says you can't have it?" Hermione took a sip of tea. "Who says you have to choose? I think it's about finding balance in life, the right mix of the two that will make you happy."

"I agree." Ginny wrapped her arm around Angelina's shoulders and lightly squeezed. "I could have played another ten years, and Harry would have _one hundred percent_ supported me. He brought the boys to the games, and I came home every chance I got, but… When Lily was born, I just—I felt like it was the right time to retire. Then the Prophet called and I didn't hesitate. So, talk it over with George, and once you make a decision, it'll be one that works for you."

Angelina drank her tea while seemingly tucking away the advice she'd been given. Ginny stirred her teaspoon with a circular motion of her finger. It wasn't long before the conversation restarted with a different subject.

 _Her_.

"So, Hermione…" Angelina wore a coy smirk.

She didn't like where this was going. "Um…"

"Just curious how things are going with you. Catch me up. I hear you're working for Narcissa Malfoy. How's that?"

"It's… interesting." If she said much more than that she risked violating the non-disclosure section of her contract.

"Is Draco Malfoy still a poncy git?" Angelina asked after a sip of tea. "You know, I'd just like to point out that it _literally_ isn't fair how _bloody_ attractive he is now. Whenever his pictures are in Witch Weekly my team is practically reduced to thirsty Fourth Years. I have to remind them he was the absolute _worst_ in school. Yet, all the society families are hoping and praying he picks one of their daughters to marry. Some people have all the luck."

Hermione knew exactly which parts of that statement to respond to— _and_ which to ignore. "He _was_ pretty foul then, but now he's… _interesting_."

In the same way that a well-executed novel could break every known writing rule.

Their reactions varied from fascinated (Angelina) to curiously suspicious (Ginny). Neither made her comfortable. Hermione found herself looking at the doorway while calculating the chances of making it through should she decide to tactfully retreat. Her verses a mother of three small children _and_ a Quidditch player?

Her chances weren't good.

Where had _that_ urge come from anyway? She had no reason to hide, but a tempest of jittery energy was trapped in her body with nowhere to go.

"Does he still treat everyone beneath him like the scourge of the Earth?"

There was an odd sort of restlessness that settled in her bones—one she could easily blame on being tired, but she knew that wasn't true.

"Well?" Ginny leaned forward on her elbows, resting her chin on her closed fist. She was _waiting_. Patiently. More than that, Ginny had the look of someone who was investigating.

Hermione didn't like the expression at all, and her face warmed even as she rolled her shoulders in a bland shrug. "He's not around much, always either at work or locked in his office, so we don't talk a lot." The statement toed the line between true and false, but Hermione didn't feel comfortable opening the curtains for them to see the tentative dynamic they'd found. "He can be every bit the arse he was, but he hasn't called me any derogatory terms." _Or even so much as slipped up and nearly said anything offensive._ "But his mother is my assignment."

"I've read her book out of curiosity, but how is she _really?_ " Angelina seemed genuinely curious, but then she smirked. "A gem, I'm sure."

Hermione barked out a laugh. "Oh, _absolutely_. She's a piece of work. I've spent a lot of time playing mental chess to outthink her." They both looked surprised by the challenge Narcissa presented. If only they _really_ knew. "We've had a few hiccups, but I think we're finding common ground."

_Mostly._

Tonight Narcissa had been invited to _another_ event. Hermione had originally planned to attend, but it was more important to see the children off. Malfoy would be there, though he had only given a noncommittal look over the rim of his glasses at her request to keep note of any symptoms. Sachs would be in attendance as well, just in case anything should happen.

Ginny made a chuffed noise. "From what Harry's told me—well, he made it sound like you and Malfoy interacted _more_. You brought him lunch."

"I had extras."

"Pansy told me that you have tea with him nearly every day." Ginny looked nothing short of smug.

Hermione _really_ wished everyone would mind their business. "Hard not to since we're both in the kitchen every morning."

"And conversations?"

"We talk."

The redhead gave her a probing look. "Harry thinks Malfoy has built up a reluctant respect for you."

"I doubt _respect_ is an accurate term for it." She dismissively waved Ginny's words off with a flick of her wrist.

Angelina's brow arched, but she said nothing.

Ginny sat back in her chair, arms folded as she studied her. "Maybe… But according to Harry, he _listens_ to you. He saw you two talking when you found the Auror outside your wards. And you helped plan the raid—more than once. Before you came along they hadn't been able to finish a planning session without arguing."

"They're both ridiculous and bring out the adolescent in one another." Hermione shut her eyes and grinned. "I happen to be _quite_ the mediator."

"I can just _imagine_ how well that went." Angelina snorted. "Stepping between years of animosity is a tall order, one you can only fulfill if you understand _both_ sides."

" _Harry_ , I understand quite clearly." Hermione laughed. "Malfoy… is an enigma wrapped up in a contradiction, dressed all black, and smothered in inherited wealth."

"That sounds… _complicated."_

Ginny burst out laughing. "It's probably accurate, though. I think Harry's pretty flummoxed by Malfoy as well. Especially after what happened this afternoon." Now it was Hermione's turn to perk with interest. Ginny indulged her. "Somehow, he found out what happened—probably from Pansy—and he made a Floo call to ask after the children." She looked surprised by the words coming out of her own mouth.

That made two of them. "Sorry _what_?"

Her shrug was open handed and exaggerated just to show her level of bafflement. "I mean he didn't ask about me or Harry, of course, but wanted to know if the kids were okay—"

"Appears Tin Man has a heart, after all." Angelina laughed at her own joke. Ginny joined in, but Hermione was too deep in thought about the meaning lurking underneath Malfoy's actions.

Like she often did.

"I suppose that's possible." Hermione shrugged. "He _is_ a father. He would understand what Harry's going through."

"Poor kid." Angelina shook her head. "With Malfoy as a father, who _knows_ how he'll turn out."

"Actually…" She trailed off with a fond shake of her head at the vision of the towheaded boy she saw almost every day. The way he would hesitantly smile, but only if no one else was around. The way he curiously looked at the thyme she'd brought him yesterday. "His son is _much_ different."

"Oh?"

"True." A bittersweet smirk played on Ginny's lips. "Albus hasn't stopped talking about showing him the chickens."

"How is he different?" A very confused Angelina asked.

"Scorpius has a kind heart." Hermione lowered her eyes to her teacup. "He's got almost _all_ of Malfoy's mannerisms. Honestly, it's hilarious. He can be stubborn, and almost _too_ observant, but he's smart and curious about everything. He loves plants and honey. When he _learns_ to read, he'll—" Someone cleared their throat and she jerked her head up to find two sets of eyes watching her with matching looks of interest. "What?"

Ginny and Angelina exchanged glances. The latter made an embellished gesture, which made the former turn back to Hermione, place her teacup on the table, clasp her hands together, and level her with the same look she had given her countless times before.

"You're _attached_."

"Hardcore." Angelina added quite _unhelpfully._

"I am, but it's not like I _planned_ it. He's just…" Hermione shrugged, looking around before settling on a word. " _Good._ And he's had it rough since his mother died. He stopped talking and he's just—he's so lonely it _hurts_."

Angelina frowned with distaste. "So, you pity him?"

" _No_ , he doesn't need that." Hermione sipped her tea. "I… see the good in him. I see everything he could be." Without the darkness surrounding his surname, the strict tutelage of his grandmother, and the strange detachment from his father, who _only_ expressed his affection in words Scorpius couldn't read.

In a tattoo he kept secret.

But she couldn't say any of that.

The thoughts, the _pain_ that growing sentiment for Scorpius brought along made her stomach twist violently; it made her mouth dry and her heart hurt.

Angelina leaned back in her chair, looking across the table at her like she would a lost cause. "I'd tell you not to get in too deep, but you're already there, mate."

That she was.

The three made their way outside not long after. Hermione and Ginny spread out a picnic blanket to watch Luna and Neville teach Al and James—and Harry, who was playing along—the best way to catch fireflies in the dying light. The moment Lily spotted them sitting, she toddled over, declared that she was tired, curled up in Hermione's lap, and fell asleep.

Angelina joined George, Percy, and Ron nearby. Soon their laughter rang out every now and then. Not long after she joined, the group disbanded. Percy left with a wave, after dropping a kiss on Lily's head and giving the boys long hugs. Ron joined the firefly hunt, while George and Angelina enjoyed their time together, smiling and talking.

Ginny remained by her side in the slowly progressing evening, watching her boys enjoy their last night with her. Hermione rested her head on her friend's shoulder in a moment of solidarity, and then support, while Ginny shed quiet tears as she brushed Lily's hair out her face.

Hermione offered no words of comfort.

There were none.

Even after her tears subsided, Hermione kept her head where it was despite the growing soreness in her neck. The sun had set in the west, its rays added a tinge of red to the clouds hanging in the north. The days were getting longer, a sign of the upcoming equinox. A change in seasons. The perfect time to reflect on all the changes spring had brought.

"I should take her to bed." Ginny nodded down at Lily.

"Probably."

The transfer was smooth, and Lily only groaned and blinked in confusion before falling back to sleep in her mother's arms. Ginny carried her inside and Hermione watched them go, then sat alone until Neville jogged over to join her.

"How's firefly catching?"

"They've caught some," Neville replied with a smile. "But then they released them because they just wanted to say hi."

Hermione shook her head with warm affection. James was showing one to his dad and uncle before he released it. Harry watched in exaggerated wonder while Ron suppressed his amusement. Luna was on her knees talking to Al with her arm around his small shoulders. He was smiling shyly, momentarily fascinated by her tree earrings that flashed like a beacon in the dying daylight. Luna pointed to a firefly for Al to greet, and with her encouragement, he did just that. It was quite the sight to behold, yet Hermione couldn't stop her mind from wandering back to Scorpius.

Images sprang forth in a picture book she couldn't close. But she didn't _want_ to.

Scorpius in knee-deep grass picking wildflowers with all three of Harry's kids. Smiling openly without hesitation. Hiding nothing. Basking in the sun's warmth. Curiously exploring Molly's vegetable patch. Chasing the gnomes. He would love it there.

"Kingsley's flower garden is almost complete." Hermione blinked away the thoughts and made a small noise of interest at Neville's information. She'd been so busy since introducing the project to Neville that she hadn't had a moment to ask about it. Much less think about it. "My students will probably finish it in the next two weeks."

"Oh, that's excellent." She reminded herself to schedule a visit. "How _is_ Kingsley?"

"Still giving off the retired old beekeeper vibes that I'm not buying." They both exchanged knowing looks.

Hermione wasn't buying it either. No matter what he said. There was growing unrest, and she knew Percy was working in his spare time, hunting for the right obscure law to dismantle the Wizengamot's oligarchy.

"How are the summer crops?" Neville hadn't seen them since planting day back in March.

"Most of them are almost ready for harvest. By the way, Narcissa Malfoy wants to give you a lesson in pruning mundane plants."

Neville's eyebrows rose sharply. "There's a story here, I'm sure of it."

"There is." Hermione laughed. "She gave me an entire lesson on the difference between magical and mundane plants while calling my pruning efforts—and yours, by extension— _butchering_."

"The fact that Narcissa Malfoy was in your vegetable garden is surreal." His amusement sounded more like befuddlement than actual humour, which was fair given the circumstance. "Next you'll tell me Draco Malfoy has _tea_ with you."

She swallowed thickly, cringing. " _Well_ …"

Neville's bushy eyebrows all but vanished into his hair. "Never a dull day, sounds like."

An understatement.

He quieted for a minute as they both enjoyed the peaceful sights surrounding them. With their individual work—her patients and his Herbology students—they never had much time to enjoy each other's company outside of him helping her plant for the next season.

"I know you've been busy, but you're taking care of yourself, right?" Neville glanced over at her as he made himself more comfortable by raising his knees and leaning back on his palms. "I know how you work when you have a patient—or even when you don't." She smacked his arm lightly which made him smirk. "How long is your assignment with Narcissa Malfoy?"

"For the foreseeable future." Hermione laid back on the blanket, folding her hands behind her head. Then she backtracked while staring up at the darkening skies. "I am taking care of myself, by the way. You're not the only one asking but I'm _quite_ capable." Hermione heard the tinge of annoyance in her own voice and bit her lip in apology, craning her neck to catch sight of her friend. "I didn't mean that."

Neville waved her off, then scooted, adjusting so he could easily lie next to her. "You know we ask because we care. That's what friends do." He nudged her with his elbow. " _You_ might not remember what happened, but we all do. It's fresh in our minds, despite the fact that it happened years ago. So, we're going to ask and _keep_ asking if it means we don't have to experience that again."

To lighten the heaviness of his statement, Hermione mock saluted him, and when they finished laughing, she turned her head towards him, watching him observe the sky.

"You know I appreciate you all. For everything. It's just…"

Without looking, Neville finished her thought. "You don't like feeling exposed and that entire situation makes you feel just that?"

"Simply put, but yes."

"Vulnerability is not only inevitable, it's essential. It doesn't care who or where you are in life." Neville shifted on the blanket next to her. "You're good at your job, especially with the patients that struggle the most when they first come into your care. I've always wondered how you gain their trust when you're a closed book. You manage to peel back their layers like an onion, find what's damaged, fix it, and close them up so they can finish healing themselves. And you manage to do all that while not showing much of who you are or sharing your own struggles."

"It's my job to help them, not the other way around. I don't dump my weight on their shoulders."

"People relate better—not only when they walk in another person's shoes, but also when they know they aren't alone in their struggles. Theirs may be different than yours, but it reminds them that you are human, too."

"I know."

"But you don't apply that method to your patients, nor in any other aspect of your life."

"I feel a lecture coming." Hermione sighed. "Can I ask what I've done to warrant this?"

"No reason. And it's not a lecture, just an observation I'm making after talking to Ron." She tensed. "I agree with what you said to him. He's looking around now that all of us are settling down and he's in a bit of a panic, which is why he's turned back to you, even though it didn't work the first time."

"Exactly what I—"

"But it makes me wonder…" Neville looked at her with clear curiosity. "It's not Ron. That's your choice. And you say you're happy as you are, but how do you know for sure?" All the arguments and points that sprung forth in her mind just… _stopped_. "How do you know when you won't open yourself up to the possibility of something different—maybe even something _better_."

Hermione laughed at herself to ease the heaviness forming in her chest. She didn't like it at all.

"I think I can safely say I've circled the drain enough to know my options."

"Have you?" Neville lowered both his hand and his voice. "Tending to your plants and patients… all while ensuring that everyone you care about _thrives_ … Hermione, you're surviving. Isn't it awfully lonely when you've got no one to tend to _you_."

Neville's words landed a little too close for comfort and she found herself adjusting. Pushing the thought back into obscurity. Out of reach.

"I'm not—I have you all as my friends."

"You do, and you'll always have us." Neville brushed a tiny gnat away from his face, then ran a hand through his hair. "I just think you need a certain mental intimacy that we can't satisfy. You need a _challenge_ , someone who will let you grow, but not out of control. You need someone who will push you hard enough to make sure you don't stay stagnant."

Hermione couldn't find the words to speak.

"I'm not saying you need a partner to complete you. You're not incomplete, but relationships are healthy to have. It's how we grow."

"I'm not opposed, but the options are slim."

"Then it's time to expand the search." Neville made a noncommittal noise. "Perhaps in a direction you didn't intend to take."

 _Ironic_. Hermione wasn't at all certain she'd been heading in _any_ direction in particular.

She laughed at the thought.

"You laugh now, but one day, you're going to meet someone and they're going to want more of you than you're used to sharing." Neville turned his head towards her, face serious. "They're going to want it _all_ : the good, bad, brilliant, and ugly. You'll be faced with a decision between forcing them out or letting them in." His gaze returned to the heavens, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "I'm curious to see what you'll choose."

* * *

Albus didn't cry at the news.

Not at first.

He loved Shell Cottage, loved playing on the beach with his cousins and camping with Bill.

But this trip would be different.

Al had never left anyone behind.

When it dawned on him that he'd be doing just that, his smile died a slow death and his eyes filled with tears, but he fought them back with several deep breaths as he covered his face with little hands.

Ginny hugged him, surprised by his emotional reaction, looking over at Hermione in open shock as she patted down his wild, dark hair. James had been poised to antagonise his little brother, but when Albus' fight against tears became more visceral, even he kept quiet, giving solemn looks to his dad who looked on in worry. He moved from his mother to Hermione's arms, but she didn't let him hide his face or his feelings. She held him at arm's length and tried to catch his gaze despite Al looking everywhere else.

He was closing up.

She covered his balled fists with hers. "Talk to us, how can we help?"

Albus struggled before his words came out in a heartbreaking whisper. "I won't get a chance to say bye." Twin tears ran down his face and more came miserably. "What if he forgets me?"

His _real_ fear.

"He won't." Ginny kneeled at his side, pressing her head against her son's temple, rubbing his back while Hermione wiped his tears away while her heart ached for him. "We'll figure it out."

"Can I—" Al choked up, face splotchy with colour. "Can I say bye?"

It took one Floo call and two conversations—one with Catherine and another with Narcissa—before Hermione found herself sitting in the Malfoy family's blank canvas of a living room with Albus. He refused to sit but held her hand tight while Catherine was trying to find Scorpius. Hermione tipped her off that he might be asleep in his father's office, which made her smile graciously before heading in that direction.

Narcissa, who was dressed for bed, sat on the chesterfield sofa, observing Albus with a puzzled expression. Hermione had no idea what was going through her mind or why she was even there, but she didn't get a chance to say anything. Catherine led a sleepy looking Scorpius into the room.

He looked grumpy in his train pyjamas, wrinkled with sleep. The tiny frown on his face morphed when he spotted her and Al, shifting to a look of worry when he got closer and saw Al's face. Catherine politely excused herself.

"Hi," Al squeaked out, still visibly upset but trying to be brave.

Scorpius waved, clearly hesitant but stepping closer to Al, concern in his eyes. This was clearly unexpected. Hermione found herself wondering if he shared a similar sentiment as his father when it came to surprises or anything that deviated from his predetermined schedule.

"I'm going away for the summer and I wanted to say bye," Albus all but blurted out. Then softer, he added, "Please don't forget me."

It was hard to gauge Scorpius' response. He seemed confused by the rush of words, but more affected by how distraught his new friend was.

Hermione drew them both closer to her, an arm around each boy. "It's not the end okay? I see Scorpius every day. He won't forget you. I won't let him." Al nodded slowly, still struggling not to cry, despite the tears that ran down his cheeks. "We can write letters and send messages and you can draw each other pictures. How does that sound?"

The tenuous resolution wasn't the only thing that calmed Albus down. There was also the extra hand holding his that served as a gentle remedy to his sadness. What made him smile was the small, resolved nod given to him from a boy who hadn't spoken a word but had offered his friendship with a tangerine slice.

"I'm gonna draw you the best pictures."

Scorpius flashed a dimpling smile, and though sad, Al scrubbed his face and smiled back.

"Auntie Mione, can we catch fireflies outside?"

Hermione doubted there were fireflies out there, but looked at Narcissa anyway. The older witch gave a single, obligatory nod and off they went.

"I have to have you home in thirty minutes."

He and Scorpius exchanged looks. "Okay."

From the window, she and Narcissa watched the bond in action between two boys who had only met once. How surprisingly deep it ran. How meaningful. There were no fireflies, but they sat in the grass under artificial lights, and all Hermione could see was Al's mouth moving while Scorpius listened intensely… until he smiled.

_Brightly._

Narcissa looked stunned, but having seen him smile that wide before, Hermione's mind started working, planning, figuring out a way to foster that bond despite the upcoming distance. There were journals, parchment she could charm, ways to send voice messages by owl. She wondered how Malfoy received letters because she'd never seen an owl arrive at any window.

"It's a shame he'll be gone for the summer." Narcissa folded her arms across her chest.

"Albus was distraught. I think seeing Scorpius tonight and figuring out a way for them to communicate will help make the separation easier."

The other woman was silent long enough for Hermione to glance over at her. There was an expression of quiet dismay on her drawn features.

"I was hoping Albus Potter would be just the thing to get Scorpius to speak."

"Is that why you—"

"His silence has gone on long enough." Narcissa cut her eyes at Hermione. "I've grown weary of waiting for him to speak on his own."

"The more you push him, the less likely he is to speak. If you're concerned about his ability to communicate, perhaps sign language should be added to his curriculum. It would be more beneficial than learning dead languages."

Her statement was _not_ appreciated. "I'd rather not encourage him to remain silent."

"That's not at all what learning sign language would do for him. It would help him communicate. Is that not good enough? Do you want to hear his voice? Well, until he's ready to speak, his hands can do that for him."

Narcissa said nothing, but it was clear the idea had been rejected.

Firmly.

 _And what did it matter if he spoke?_ Hermione thought quietly to herself. Scorpius wouldn't have a voice with her anyway. Narcissa thought her firm hand was necessary to make him strong, even though that belief was severely flawed. She cared about him, in her own way—likely the best way she knew how. But, in the end, her grandson was a problem that she intended to check off on her long list of things to do before her time was up. Right along with fixing things with his father.

Hermione shook all thoughts away to focus on the more pressing matter at hand. She went back to watching the boys and working out the logistics of a forming plan.

She stepped outside and the boys knew immediately it was time to take Albus home. They stood to their feet and before Scorpius could do anything, Al hugged him. Scorpius' hands hung limply at his side until one tentatively moved to hug him back. Then the other followed. When they separated, there were fresh tears in Al's eyes, ones that fell as he walked across the grass towards her with an equally sombre Scorpius at his side.

"It's not goodbye, remember?" she told them, despite already feeling the effects of their impending separation. "You'll be back before you know it."

"I know." Albus rubbed his eyes, cheeks red. "Then we can show Scorp the chickens, right?"

"Yes, love."

Hermione took a hand from each and led them both to the fireplace. Narcissa had returned to her seat, and was pretending to read a book. Hermione kneeled in front of the two boys. Scorpius looked a bit more upset than before as he exchanged looks with Al and nodded.

"Auntie 'Mione, while I'm gone, can you read Scorp my favourite books? He likes being read to."

It was an odd request that brought forth a heart-stopping moment. She just looked between the two of them. Narcissa, who was unapologetically eavesdropping, had the same dawning realisation. Hermione glanced at Scorpius, who somehow looked both worried and hopeful, biting his lip. He looked down at his slippers and she couldn't keep the wonder out of her voice when she replied to Albus.

"Of course I will, but h-how do you know he likes to be read to?"

"We're friends and _I_ like it when _you_ read to me."

So naturally he would like the same.

Her heart calmed. Slightly.

"If it's okay with everyone, I'll read to him." She caught Narcissa's head tilt. It was a topic they would have to discuss later. They both needed sleep and she needed time to work if she hoped to send Albus off with everything he needed to communicate with Scorpius over the summer.

"One last hug before we go?" Al looked hopeful.

They turned to each other and she caught the slight quiver of Scorpius' lip before Albus hugged him again. Hermione had to remember there was no such thing as an easy goodbye just as she reminded them that it wasn't permanent.

It was temporary.

But that didn't make it any easier.

* * *

Pansy stared at the vial Hermione presented, lifting it to the light.

It was just past midnight, and after a long day and even longer night, she'd come home and gotten right to work on her plan to help them communicate. She had just finished ironing out the logistics of a two-way parchment for them to draw each other pictures when Pansy emerged from the Floo, looking far too chipper for someone in silk pyjamas.

She was there to collect and Hermione put her work aside to deliver as requested.

A vial with a potion that would lower everyone's inhibitions enough to shake off the jitters involved in attending a large party. Or, rather, enough for Pansy to say hello to Cho… _willingly_.

"It looks like water with a drop of milk." Pansy scrunched her face up.

"The cloudier it is, the stronger its effects. You said you wanted an amiable greeting, not Greek orgy."

"You're not funny at all, Granger." But Pansy laughed despite herself, closing her fist around the vial and settling on the sofa like she would be there a while. "How are the Potters?" Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and shrugged, which made Pansy wince. "That good, huh?"

"Better than expected." Better than _she_ would be in their situation, if she were being honest. "The kids leave in the morning. I took Albus to say goodbye to Scorpius, so I feel pretty emotionally drained, to be honest."

" _Fuck_."

Hermione sat next to Pansy and rested her head on her friend's shoulder in a rare moment that needed no explanation.

"How are they?"

"Al likely cried himself to sleep and Scorpius…" Hermione sighed and straightened, running a hand through her curls. She had been so torn about leaving him, but there was nothing to do about that. She had to take Albus back to the Burrow. Hermione was certain he would wind up on his father's sofa again, wrapped in his blanket, and she hoped he wouldn't be alone for too long. "He seemed upset."

"Those poor kids. Daphne's supposed to take Scorpius tomorrow evening to meet Halia so I'll give her a heads up."

"Oh?" That was intriguing. "How did that happen?"

"I was there as a mediator. She and Narcissa only argued for ten minutes before they came to an agreement." She made it sound like an improvement. "Draco—"

"Did you tell Malfoy what happened at Harry's house?"

"It _might_ have been brought up in casual conversation, but then he got briefed on it further from the head of the DMLE, so…" She trailed off, remaining coy with a shrug that shifted into a sharp look. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Hermione turned, crossing her legs and folding them under herself. She looked at the other witch hard, turning her words over and over in her brain. She seemed to speak to Malfoy more than Hermione had originally thought. Which was… _curious._ "Ginny was just surprised that he asked after the children."

"He _did_?" Razor-sharp blue eyes squinted. " _Interesting_." It was an honest response, but careful in that way of hers. Not giving too much, Pansy shrugged flippantly. "Who knows Draco's motives about anything, really. Why don't you ask him?"

She glared at her friend who smiled too wide. Like a Cheshire cat.

Hermione thought about the lone piece she had that looked a lot like a kettle, and wondered how many pieces Pansy had. How much of Draco Malfoy had she figured out? The nuances of his character? What made him worth protecting the way she did? Perhaps she knew the ins and outs of him and _that_ was why she guarded him so fiercely.

"Since you talk to him as much as you do, perhaps you would know better than _I_ would."

From the cutting look she gave Hermione, it was obvious Pansy wanted to have words with her. Now what those words were, she had no idea.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "A better topic of conversation is the security at your party. With what happened—"

"First of all, I'm not cancelling it." Pansy gave her a defiant look, daring her to approach the topic. "Second, Theo's handling the increased security measures on his property, but the invitations and non-disclosure agreements are spelled to grant access only to the intended recipient and their agreed upon plus one. We'll have guards in regular clothes mingling throughout the party."

Hermione didn't get a chance to say anything, silenced by the surprise arrival of Percy, who stepped out of her Floo dressed in his official Ministry robes with perfectly styled hair that seemed to emphasise his severe expression.

Like a beacon for lost sailors, he focused on Hermione. The air in the room shifted as the tension weighed on them all. There was a sense of foreboding he brought with him that made it clear something unwanted was in her future. Hermione's nerves were on edge with anticipation, her mind racing with thoughts as she went through scenario after scenario that could explain his visit.

All roads lead back to one: his visit wasn't personal. But Pansy didn't know that. In an instant she was on her feet, hands on her hips, indignant.

"For fuck's sake, _Weasley_."

The staggering shock that Pansy's presence caused him would have been humorous had it not been for his heavy entrance. Percy's eyes went comically wide before his face settled into a more normal expression.

"Why are you here?"

Pansy crossed the room, acting as a physical boundary between her and Percy, standing directly in front of him.

"I think the better question is why are _you_ here?"

Though Hermione couldn't see Pansy, her tone was definitely indicative of her current mood.

"Official Ministry business." He peered over Pansy's head at Hermione, who hadn't moved from her spot. Not that she intended to until he disclosed the nature of said ' _Ministry business_.' But first, he had to contend with Pansy, who shoved him in the chest hard enough for Percy to rock back on his heels. Instead of arguing, his blue eyes softened slightly as he lowered his voice to something private that approached a whisper. "Apologies for leaving you so abruptly over dessert."

At least two of Hermione's senses—as well as her eyebrows—sprung to life at the words she hadn't been invited to hear. Lunch had _obviously_ gone so well that they were _still_ sharing meals…

That _both of them_ were keeping secret.

Hermione was _beyond_ intrigued.

"I _might_ allow you to reschedule, but I'm not sure." Pansy pressed her lips into a thin line. "I'm quite busy and apparently, so are _you_."

Percy's face offered no clue to his actual mood; he looked very much like himself, but Hermione knew him well enough to see the tense uncertainty beneath his mask of composure—uncertainty that seemed to clear when Pansy stiffly cleared her throat.

"I'll be up late tonight working on designs for the Potter's house. Perhaps when you finish working you can make it up to me. I like banoffee pie."

That made Percy smile, relief lifting the corners of his eyes. "I'll Floo call first."

"See that you do."

Pansy's eyes returned to his before she shifted her weight and folded her arms across her chest. Back to business. "You're here to summon Granger for Ministry business? As I recall, she's not an employee."

"True, but she's being summoned by the Wizengamot. I tried to get them to wait until morning, but they said that either I bring her or they'll send someone else."

Who wouldn't be as friendly as Percy.

"What for?" Curiosity rapidly shifted to annoyance as Hermione stood up, realising she was likely to have another long night. A sigh trailed after the thought itself. "They've never summoned me like this before."

And the blatant disregard for her time rankled her nerves.

"Does she need an advocate?" Pansy asked. "Because I—"

" _No._ " Percy and Hermione spoke at once.

"Nobody lets me have fun."

Tension broke for a moment to allow them a laugh.

"I can't tell you why because I don't know." Percy gave her a look. "I have only so much time to produce you, so if you'd like to chan— _oh_." He seemed surprised when Hermione picked up her wand and summoned her beaded bag, catching it effortlessly. "You _do_ have time to change into something proper."

Hermione looked down at her black leggings and oversized red shirt and shrugged before summoning a pair of trainers. "Okay, _now_ I'm ready."

A vastly amused Pansy took the spot next to a sputtering Percy.

"You're in _pyjamas_."

"Your point?" She smiled at Percy. "I'm being summoned for a meeting after midnight, what else would I wear?"

He stared at her for several blinking moments… and then the expression on his face shifted from flabbergasted to amusement with a tinge of admiration.

"Fair point. Shall we?"

With a nod, she crossed the room, stopping first at Pansy, who made her promise to Floo call when she returned home. Hermione agreed and stepped back to watch their exchange. After speaking to Pansy too softly for Hermione to hear, Percy kissed the back of her hand in a parting gesture. Hermione had to squint, but spotted the slight colour on her friend's cheeks. Percy offered an arm she accepted.

"Oh, Pansy?" she called to her friend, who was picking up the vial off the coffee table.

"Hmm?"

"We're going to talk about this later."

Before Pansy could argue, they left with a soft pop. They landed in Percy's office and it was messy in every way the man was not. He looked embarrassed but overall unapologetic about the piles of somewhat familiar-looking books, very old and dusty parchment scrolls, and texts that covered every available surface of the room.

"I'm doing a bit of light reading. We'll talk about it."

Hermione arched one eyebrow.

The quiet walk from his office led to a silent lift ride. The nosy part of Hermione wanted very much to ask about what she'd just witnessed in her living room, but she thought it best to save for later. Right then she had to prepare for the unknown. The lift doors opened onto Level Nine and Hermione stepped off first, then Percy. The black walls and lanterns looked far more ominous now than in her teenage memories.

As they made their way down the hall and began ascending the steps that would take them to Level Ten, Percy broke the tense silence. "I'll be there as long as they allow me to stay. Even after, I'll wait by the door."

"Thank you."

Not that it mattered in the end.

They turned the corner and saw two familiar men waiting outside of their destination.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Dressed professionally in official robes that denoted their department and rank, the two stood on opposite sides of an imposing brick archway framing a shut door. They just stared into the empty space in front of them with grim expressions, not speaking, which wasn't out of the ordinary.

But as she and Percy approached, the picture—and the stark differences between the two—became clearer. Crisper.

 _And_ more concerning…

Harry had a tendency to slouch when he wasn't focused, making himself appear shorter. Malfoy did not. He stood at attention, legs and back bolt upright, arms stabbing toward the floor, and fists curled together. It not only made his presence feel larger than his physical size, but called to mind an image of his son. Because he stood _exactly_ the same way at Narcissa's side. Malfoy's hair sat as perfect and effortless as hair could, but she paid more attention to the fact that Harry had _brushed_ his.

Out of everything, _that_ had been the one small detail that worried her the most.

Harry only brushed his hair for important events.

And there she was, in her pyjamas, with her hair positively wild and untamed. By the time she was in earshot, Hermione briefly entertained the idea that she probably hadn't made the _best_ of choices in attire. But it was too late for regret.

Hermione cleared her throat, alerting both wizards to her and Percy's presence.

"Now I'm _officially_ confused," Harry said in lieu of a greeting.

"That makes two of us." She snorted sarcastically. "What in the absolute _hell_ is going on, Percy?"

The man didn't answer her question. Instead, he gave Malfoy a professional nod. "Is the room ready?"

"It is. Follow me." Malfoy pushed himself off the wall and led the way. Percy followed. She exchanged a confused look with Harry, who shrugged, but they both trailed after them. The room Malfoy brought them to was down a different corridor.

Nothing but a dusty table and four chairs, two on each side.

Hermione's mood soured with her surroundings. "Someone start talking."

Malfoy shut the door behind him with an audible click. "Potter. Granger. Have a seat." Almost as if he'd called her a derogatory name, Hermione recoiled at the visibly impassive man's instruction. She scrunched her face up further when he turned a finger and made one chair on one side of the table slide out.

_For her._

She glared at the chair, then the man who stared back with a grim, almost taunting expression.

"Sit."

"I'd rather stand." Hermione stubbornly folded her arms while Harry stood in the spot next to her and nodded in agreement, matching her stance. "One of you needs to explain what the hell is going on and why I'm here."

Bored grey eyes bore into her for the length of a held breath before he rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself." Malfoy got to work, extracting his wand from his holster. It wasn't long until she felt the cool tingle of security spells and privacy charms on her skin. He put his wand back up. "It's done. Start talking, Weasley." His tone was familiar, not at all acerbic. One might even think it was nearly _friendly_.

_Which was absurd._

Harry's patience was thin and it showed. "What's going on?"

Percy and Draco exchanged looks and Malfoy made a polite gesture before taking the seat Hermione had refused. He folded his arms across his chest, leaned back, and crossed his legs, appearing as if he had all the time in the world.

Hermione cut her eyes at her friend. "Percy?"

He picked invisible lint off the sleeve of his robes. "I know you're both aware of the movement I'm a part of." Of course they were. "Well, before we go in there, considering I don't know exactly _why_ they've summoned you three, I thought it would be best if you all got a crash course."

"You're the leader of the rebellion to restore the power to the Minister by the next election," Harry said astutely. From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Malfoy rub his temple as if he were dealing with the stupidest person on Earth. "What else is there to know?"

She felt a headache forming at the base of her skull and could have blamed it on the day, two of the three occupants of the room, stress, or even her own exhaustion. Whatever was happening—well, Hermione was only certain that her night was just beginning. _Not_ ending.

"In so many words, yes, but I prefer to call it a Restoration."

"And Malfoy?"

Because that was the real question here.

"I'm looking to contest the Wizengamot's rule, revert the power back to the Minister's office, and trigger a proper and fair election. By right of birth, Draco has access to the Cambridge Magical Library where we found the original laws created when the Ministry was first founded. He's been translating them into English for me to interpret while others run interference to the best of their abilities. Furthermore, he's been going into the archives of the Hall of Records and searching for other scrolls that have been vital."

While Harry looked absolutely gobsmacked, Hermione found herself unsurprised.

_By any of it._

Now that the pieces had been laid out in front of her, it all made sense.

Hermione had seen him working, sacrificing sleep and time and food to complete his translation work. The stress. The strain. Weeks of it. _Months._ The idea that he and Percy somehow knew each other had been forming in the lines and spaces between their words, actions, and the odd familiarity from the very first time she'd been in the room with the two men. Hermione had ignored the niggling sensation then, and now she was paying for it by being blindsided.

"Why are you telling us now?" Hermione tried to force herself not to overthink, which was a near impossible feat. She would have to process all of this later. Over a glass of wine. And her whiteboard. "Something's obviously happened to make you want to bring us in."

"In truth, the members have wanted to bring you in for months, but with Tiberius' inquiries, I thought not knowing would be a benefit. Though, from rumours, Hermione, you've managed to set the Chief Warlock on edge unlike anyone else."

She gave a fake curtsy, mouth flat with unamusement. "Lucky me."

Harry nearly choked on air.

"Who are these members?"

"Every department head in the Ministry and dozens of other employees in various positions. There are some we can't disclose, due to their current position and relationship to various Wizengamot members, but we're all doing our parts to ensure the success of our plan."

Hermione thought about it all for a moment. "Why do you need the laws to be translated? Why not point out that their ten year rule has expired, make them transfer the power, and hold a free election?"

"Because _Granger_ ," Malfoy's customary drawl made Hermione clench her teeth. "It doesn't matter that the rule has expired. Power transfer requires a two-thirds vote and the Chief Warlock to sign off on it. Neither of those things will happen without a fight, a change in the Wizengamot members' loyalty, or the right law that overrides them. Such as something older that's still valid."

"And when you find that law, what's the plan?"

"Yeah," Harry chimed in. "Who are you all going to nominate?"

"Kingsley." Percy folded his arms. "However, he's been advising me as if I'm to throw my hat in for the position. He's adamant that he's retired, but _you_ —"

She frowned. "Is that what you want from me?"

"Yes, but later. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know why the Wizengamot summoned you. Harry and Draco, I imagine it's something to do with the failed raid, but Tiberius has been after Draco for weeks. Pretty certain he will pull out all the stops tonight to get him to talk or fire him if he doesn't. Are you ready?"

"Of course." Malfoy stood to his feet, smoothing down his black tie.

"Harry?" Percy waved him over. "A word."

How Hermione found herself standing in front of Malfoy as he leaned against the wall with his arms folded was a mystery. One she didn't bother to solve because she was heavily involved in the complex task of observing Percy as he spoke to Harry in hushed tones across the room. She also happened to sneak a few glances at the wizard in front of her. Malfoy gave little away, only fragments of clues that Hermione had learned to recognise after repetition. The set of his jaw. The potency of his gaze. The little tick tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wanted to say something, but Hermione beat him to it.

"I believe you said you'd never involve yourself in something like this and yet—"

"I have my reasons and they are purely selfish." Malfoy's expression was both dry and unimpressed.

She had a feeling she would hit a dead end if she pried any more.

"How's your pain?"

Suspicious was one of Draco Malfoy's default settings. The longer she waited for his response, the longer he met her gaze with speculative ones of his own. But when Hermione didn't look away, Malfoy tilted his head to the side.

"Are you going to answer or—"

"Are you making conversation or do you _actually_ want to know?"

Hermione rested her hands on her hips. "It's a waste of time to ask questions I don't want to know the answers to."

Malfoy didn't get a chance to answer because Percy received a corporeal Patronus stating that the Wizengamot would be ready for them in five minutes. The walk back to the chamber was quick. Hermione stood next to Harry on one side of the archway while Percy stood next to Malfoy on the other.

"Hermione?" Harry nudged her with his elbow. "You okay?"

"Yes."

Except Malfoy was watching her, and had been since she'd responded to his question. Being trapped in his gaze was such a strange sensation. He felt both close and far. The weight, heavy and tangible, felt familiar in a way that it shouldn't. Hermione backed herself against the archway, the brick grounding her, cooling her hands as she splayed them against—

"Percy." Harry's voice snatched her attention. "You know I've been meaning to say something. You could have let Hermione change."

"I'm a civilian and dressed as one _should_ after midnight." Hermione made a fist at her side when Malfoy looked down at his watch, swearing at the time. "I see nothing wrong."

Something fleeting passed over the blond man's face as he gave her attire a cursory, dismissive glance, but the expression was too swift to decipher upon a first glance. Hermione replayed it in her mind: not so contemptuous, but _definitely_ —

The heavy doors slowly creaked open. Cool, stale air escaped the room, and a ripple of foreboding visibly swept through them all like a wave of force. All four exchanged looks of varying intensity before Harry took the lead. Malfoy fell behind him, then Hermione, while Percy brought up the rear.

It felt like walking into a battle devoid of armour, and Hermione had not been prepared for the way her stomach twisted with nerves at the prospect. Her stress level increased tenfold from one frayed exhale to the next. She clenched her hands repeatedly as an outlet—it didn't work.

She was going to have to improvise this one. Which wasn't her strength.

Although shaky—like birds on a tree branch, ready to take flight at the first glimpse of trouble—Hermione took control of her nerves.

She surveyed the room. Hermione spotted the record keeper in the corner, dressed nicely in dark robes that didn't make her stand out too much. Hermione's red shirt acted like a beacon, drawing attention that wasn't exactly wanted. For a room that had such a large door, it wasn't grand. Dim orbs hung from the ceiling, giving the space a haunting feel that she didn't like. At least forty Wizengamot members of different shapes, sizes, and ethnicities sat in their places in four rows of ten, all wearing looks of stiff composure, but if she looked harder, she could see something else in their eyes.

_Fear._

In the centre on the bottom row sat Chief Warlock McLaggen with an unreadable expression. A rather grim Minister sat to his right and a sombre Cormac to his left. He didn't leer at Hermione like usual.

In fact, he actually looked scared. Nervous.

 _Weird_.

Opposite the table were three empty chairs that didn't look comfortable. Harry took the far left, Malfoy the far right, and she was left to claim the middle. After a glance over her shoulder at Percy, who had hung back, Hermione accepted the nod of encouragement she didn't know she needed until right then.

Their seats were close enough that she could practically feel the nerves rolling off Harry, but nothing from Malfoy. He was too busy keenly assessing every face in the room as if there were going to be a test. Some boldly stared back, some glared as if he were the cause of all their problems, but overall, their response to his scrutiny was largely different levels of discomfort.

"Now that you three are seated," Cormac's voice echoed in the silence. "The Chief Warlock calls this meeting into order." He opened the proverbial floor to his uncle in deference.

The stenographer waved her wand and her Quick Quotes Quill activated.

"Mr Weasley, you may be dismissed."

"I'm here as Miss Granger's advocate as she is not an employee of the Ministry."

He glared at Hermione, who made sure to look extremely put out.

"Very well then." There was a dramatic pause before Tiberius continued, "Due to the continued failures of Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy, Death Eaters continue to be a blight on our society."

Which was a stretch, at best, but Hermione schooled her features and continued listening.

"Tonight," the Chief Warlock's voice rose in a sharp crescendo. " _Ten_ members of the governing Wizengamot were murdered in brutal retaliatory fashion. The members here tonight are survivors. Death Eaters have taken responsibility and threatened more attacks if we do not release the prisoners."

Hermione heard herself gasp. Every subsequent second that ticked by felt like an hour.

She looked over at an equally shocked Harry, who was blinking, struggling to string together a simple response. Hermione didn't need to look at Malfoy. After getting nothing from him since they sat down, she _felt_ him tense along the edges of her consciousness. Felt waves of defensive energy pouring off him at such a high rate she wondered if he would draw his wand.

Or if he needed to.

Then his head jerked to his left—not at her, o _ver her_ —at Harry while she grappled with the news.

 _Ten_ … why did that number seem familiar?

_Oh._

It was the same number of Death Eaters they'd captured during the raid.

Well, _that_ explained the sombre mood and the fear in their eyes. They were _scared_ in the same way that children were conditioned to be terrified of fire after getting burned by the flames due to their own carelessness—especially after countless warnings. Hermione felt horrible for the families affected, disgusted by the blatant disregard for the sanctity of human life she believed in at her very _core_ as a Healer….

But there was an irony that couldn't be ignored.

"Draco Malfoy." The Minister said his name in a tone so snide it strangely bordered on fatuousness. "As Head of the Task Force, brief us on the raid that occurred two nights ago."

"Very well." His voice was like cold metal. Completely devoid of all emotion. Professional.

He began weaving a detailed yet clipped tale surrounding the raid that took them through everything Hermione knew and things she didn't. The fight that had started badly and got worse with the arrival of the reinforcement from the secret tunnel. How he and Harry ended up in the Manor, the fight that raged on, the start of the Fiendfyre, the chaos, Malfoy pulling Harry out. She learned how Malfoy ended up with his shoulder injured—courtesy of dodging a Killing Curse from one uncle, but catching a blasting spell from the other.

It was far worse than Hermione could have imagined.

When Malfoy finished, he sat back stiffly in his chair and looked straight ahead, his face empty despite describing the harrowing event. The Chief Warlock and the Minister exchanged whispers. In fact, most of the attending Wizengamot members seemed to be speaking in low tones to their neighbours. Then Tiberius McLaggan cleared his throat, plunging the room into another silence.

"Your account matches the one provided in the briefing by Hestia Jones. This raid should have been cancelled."

"Yes, but I didn't call it off."

Harry's words were ignored. Tiberius' scrutiny was on Malfoy. "And yet you risked the lives of your team and the Aurors in an act that could be seen as an open declaration of _war_. The Auror department is Mr Potter's, but the Task Force and each raid you lead is _your_ responsibility."

"Are you trying to place the blame of the raid's failure squarely on me, Chief Warlock?" Malfoy's voice was so cold it sent a chill up her spine.

"You have been given adequate resources to rid us all of Death Eaters but you haven't used them efficiently."

That statement was patently untrue.

"Furthermore, your lack of control and leadership has killed _ten_ members of the Wizengamot, and threatened all of our lives. Come morning, news of your failures will be turned into a complete and utter media spectacle that will make us all look incompetent."

So _that_ was the core of his anger. It wasn't about any of the witches and wizards that had been hurt as a result of the raid, or even the Wizengamot members that had _died_ in retaliation. The Chief Warlock's concern was only for his own skin and public image.

It was _disgusting_.

For years, they had been untouchable, living without the same worries and fears as everyone else. No threats. No poisoned letters. No kidnappings. But tonight's action had made it clear that they were human and subject to the same frailties as all other walks of life.

They were no better than anyone else.

It must have been a sobering experience for them all.

"I'd ask how it feels to have blood on your hands, Malfoy," Cormac spat with a vicious sneer. "But you already know."

Malfoy's only visible reaction was a slight tensing of his shoulder muscles. Then his hands curled into tight, knuckle-popping fists on his thighs. She could see his veins. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he took a breath only she could hear. Malfoy rolled his shoulders like stormy waves that pulled Hermione into his path. She braced for the inevitable impact… and fallout.

But before either could happen, in a move that surprised the entire room, Harry took a decisive stance.

" _That_ was uncalled for. This entire witch hunt is complete _bullshit_. As I've stated, the reason for the failure is mine and mine alone. You've all obviously read the briefing—"

"That's not for you to decide, Mr Potter."

"There's no decision, only truth!" Harry's furious tone almost made Hermione rest a hand on his shoulder to ground him, but she didn't. They deserved the full wrath of his ire. "And Malfoy's history doesn't have a—"

"Harry," Cormac raised a brow. "I thought you, of _all_ people, would agree with me."

"We're _not_ here to discuss Malfoy's past. We're here about a raid—"

"Yes, the raid," The Minister interrupted, voice slick as oil as he cut his eyes to Malfoy once again. "Mr Malfoy's inability to lead has put us all in a position where we are left with no other option."

Like the useless figurehead he was, he deferred to the Chief Warlock. However, Tiberius gave a decisive nod, allowing the man to bring down the verdict in a trial where the decision had obviously been made before Malfoy had so much as opened his mouth.

Or even walked into the room.

It was every bit of the hunt Percy thought it would be.

"Due to your track record of failures since obtaining this position, complaints from your subordinates, and the failure of the recent raid, it is the decision of the Wizengamot that you, Draco Malfoy, will be removed from your position as Head of the Task Force. We will also issue a public statement concerning the events surrounding your termination that you will not be permitted to refute."

The outraged noise from her best friend was in direct contrast to Malfoy's silence.

Hermione's anger started to build.

"You should reconsider your decision," Harry argued hotly. "The failure of the raid rests on me. If anyone should be fired, it should be _me_."

There was visible unease from the attending members, murmurs that she couldn't understand. A restless energy caused by Harry's disagreement.

A sharp raised hand from the Chief Warlock commanded silence. "Come now, Mr Potter, there's no need to—"

"Malfoy wanted to call it off, and I refused. It's clear—"

"Regardless, it's his job to maintain control at all times. And he didn't. I thought you would be thrilled at the news. You hate working with him. Everyone knows this."

"If the reason for his termination was justified or even _accurate_ ," Harry said bluntly. Which was fair, all things considered. "But it's _neither_ of those things. You're trying to terminate him for a mistake _I_ made and for a—"

"A reason that's not valid according to the Ministry Employment Act as well as the DMLE's Code of Ethics." Malfoy had clearly calmed down and centered himself, ready to fight. "I don't think you want to fight me on this. You will lose."

Tiberius laughed. "I believe _I_ pass the judgment here."

"Even _you_ have to abide by the laws of the Ministry. You don't get to circumvent the laws that don't suit your needs." Malfoy leaned back in his chair. "You can't get rid of me that easily." Hermione blinked at him in surprise. She was… _impressed._ "Furthermore, allow me to highlight that the Wizengamot has a history of terminating employees unlawfully. How would the public take that?"

"Do you think the media will care about the termination of an ex-Death Eater?"

"Maybe not." Harry stood up. "But they will if _I_ back it. And I _will_."

Which shut Tiberius up, but made the whispers around the room rise in earnest. He appeared visibly frustrated, angry enough to snap the quill in his hand with ease. But he didn't. The Minister leaned over to whisper something to him, but he waved the man off with an aggressive swat.

"Fine. Perhaps I can't fire you, but I _can_ demote you," Tiberius said brusquely then looked at Hermione for the first time, smiling slowly. "Miss Granger, should you accept, his job is yours."

 _That_ unapologetic abuse of power set her on edge.

"Did you drag me here after midnight to offer me a _job_?" Exasperation dripped from her every syllable.

"Indeed. Draco Malfoy will be your subordinate, should you decide to keep him employed on _your_ Task Force."

Hermione looked at the stoic wizard next to her. His face gave absolutely nothing away as it pertained to the semi-public slap in the face he'd just unfairly received from the Wizengamot.

There were two routes she could take in response, but neither included accepting the position they were all but handing her. While option one—which involved respectfully declining and leaving the same way she'd entered—was the sensible choice, option two was _far_ more satisfying.

Because now she was over it.

Completely.

And since the universe seemed determined to drag her into the fight, then so be it.

"Of course, we will give you time to think it over, Miss Granger."

"No need." Hermione cleared her throat and smiled a little too wide. "I've made up my mind."

Malfoy turned, his stare crippling and harsh unlike anything she had ever seen before. Heavy with accusation and distrust so visceral it couldn't be ignored. She met it with a steady one of her own, one that tried to speak to him. Apparently that didn't work so Hermione was forced to use her words.

At a volume only he could hear, she spoke through her teeth, barely moving her lips. " _Trust me. For one second."_

Because Malfoy had his reasons for taking a thankless position he didn't need. Hermione didn't know every motive, but she knew enough, knew just a hint of what made him inquire after the children Harry was so willing to put everything on the line to protect. And on a different level, Hermione knew there was more that he hid deeper—reasons that, when combined, created the constellation tattooed on his forearm.

She didn't know which reason made the ice in his eyes melt just a little, but it was all she needed.

"I believe you have offered me Draco Malfoy's job prematurely as there is no opening for the position you wish for me to accept."

Then she turned, eyes falling on the Chief Warlock and Minister, who regarded her with varying expressions of confusion.

"I'm not certain if you were listening, Miss Granger, but I just demoted him."

"No, you didn't." She levelled the incredulous man with raised eyebrow. "You _tried_ to, yes, but I think you'll soon realise that you've misspoken."

Cormac appeared intrigued. Harry, from the corner of her eye, leaned back in his chair as if he were ready for the show. Malfoy was watching her, his anger levelling out. Meanwhile, the rest of the present members of the Wizengamot rumbled their responses to her statement.

Hermione stood to address the room.

"Welcome to our reality." Silence of a tomb fell at her words. "Threats. Violence. Kidnappings. Murders. None of this is new to us, our families, or to the people out there living under constant daily threats—people who have watched this escalation for years while you all have perpetuated a false peace of your creation. We all try to live in peace, to live normally, but _this_ is our reality. _And now it's yours_. It's time to _stop_ doing just enough to keep the public from recognising your true incompetence. It's _time_ to put every available resource into this fight."

She had everyone's undivided attention.

"Miss Granger—"

Hermione never let Tiberius finish.

"I cannot ignore one simple fact, Chief Warlock. Now that the Death Eaters are affecting _you personally_ it's suddenly an issue. _Now_ it's a problem you want to take immediate action against. _Now_ you want to pay attention to a team you've kept out of sight and underfunded. _Now_ you want to unfairly lay blame at Draco Malfoy's feet when you should be blaming yourselves, your greed, your ineptitude, and your disregard for all the warnings you've been given. Warnings that have been around since before your tenure, since Kingsley was Interim Minister. This wouldn't have happened had you treated the Death Eater threat with the seriousness it deserved after the war."

Hermione stared right at the Chief Warlock who glared back furiously.

"These two are more than capable to perform the duties and responsibilities of the jobs they were hired to do. Unfortunately, they can only work with the resources they've been provided." Hermione caught sight of Malfoy from the corner of her eye, looking at her in a way that she had no capacity to interpret. But it was an expression she wouldn't soon forget. _Open_ but the meaning was as illegible as his handwriting. She looked away. "This is where their 'failings' end and yours begin."

"That's enough, Miss Granger." Tiberius' voice echoed in the stillness of the room. "You—"

"No, I don't believe it is. You can stop pretending you haven't set them up to fail. War, after all, is more profitable than peace." At the outraged look on the older man's face, she clenched her jaw. "Don't pretend that demoting Malfoy while issuing a statement he can't refuse wasn't a directive to save yourself in the public eye."

The Minister snapped his fingers at the court stenographer. "Stop the recording."

"That's fine. I don't _need_ a recording when everything I've said is true and easily proven. Might I remind you again that I have _memories,_ evidence, and friends in the media who have a personal interest in seeing true justice prevail."

"Your threat—"

"It's _not_ a threat, simply a _fact_ that every media outlet in the world would be interested in knowing." She shifted on her feet. "You see, the reason you've misspoken when demoting Draco Malfoy is that you don't want _me_ to take on his position. In fact, you _truly_ don't want me to return as an employee of the Ministry."

"Miss—"

"If I come back, I would make it my _personal mission_ to see the power structure restored and the corruption in this room eliminated. I would hold _every last one of you_ responsible for your actions, or rather _inactions._ Corruption. Illegal interrogation tactics. Frankly, your disgusting behaviour has run rampant and I would not stand for it." Hermione cut her eyes to the Chief Warlock and Minister, both of whom were staring at her with wide eyes. "And I'd see to it that _you_ —Tiberius McLaggen—and _anyone_ who supports you will _never again_ hold a position of power. You are _all_ culpable. You are _all_ to blame for the last thirteen years of failures and suffering. You are _all_ responsible for the deaths of your fellow Wizengamot members. You _all_ need to answer to the people. More importantly, you _all_ need to answer to yourselves."

There were more rumblings from the Wizengamot members, and Tiberius looked absolutely _furious_. "I would be _very_ careful with what you say, Miss Granger. Your words border on treason and can be punishable by—"

"I'd like to see you try."

"Miss—"

"I am loyal to the Ministry, the ideals it was built on, and what it used to be before you all turned it into a shadow of what it once was. But to you, Chief Warlock? I will _never_ be loyal to a tyrant. You are a coward who only cares about saving his own skin. You are solely focused to the point of paranoia about losing whatever power you've taken while Death Eaters threaten the very _existence_ of the Ministry you've sworn to protect." Hermione felt anger and determination rise in her. "You think you're a king but you are sorely mistaken. You see, you're just a pawn that will fall with the first misstep."

The rest of the Wizengamot were staring in abject shock, and Hermione looked at each individual face.

"Change is here and it starts tonight." Hermione had grown just tired enough to step out of the shadows and be part of the force to make it happen. "There are two sides in this fight, and it's time to choose one."

"Spoken like the treasonous head of a rebellion. Miss Granger, I—"

"I'm not a part of any movement."

Which was true. Before tonight she was not.

But that was going to change the second she walked out of the room.

The fire of restoration had been lit.

_Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world. Indeed it is the only thing that ever has._

**Margaret Mead**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello and happy Friday! All the moving parts in this fic...I'll let it all marinate. Til Friday. Oh and thanks for the well-wishes. I'm doing better, still battling fatigue and the mental fog and the cough from COVID. But doing a lot better. Thanks to my beta dreamsofdramione for being the real MVP.


	16. Line Of Sight

**Sixteen  
** _Line of Sight_

_**June 21, 2011** _

Hermione thought of the night as a little death, when most everything went into a state of dormancy, rest, and restoration. But sunrise was a time for reawakening, vibrantly alive.

The Summer Solstice sunrise was gorgeous, albeit a touch hazy. The sun peeked over the horizon behind the trees, painting the wispy clouds that streaked across the brightening sky a picturesque blend of reds, oranges, and yellows that pushed out the purples and blues. The air was clear and crisp. The peace was absolute.

Today was going to be a gorgeous one, she could _feel_ it.

The cactus agreed in the only way it could: by perking up another three centimetres.

She'd measured, of course.

Hermione carried it inside, not wanting it to get too much sun, and placed it on the island as she gathered what she needed to leave. Supplies for breakfast. A dish for lunch that she'd pre-made for Narcissa as Scorpius' lunch was something she tended to make based on his moods.

And he'd been in a mood since Albus left.

Daphne had said the meeting between him and Halia had gone well; he was engaged more than she'd ever seen him, but overall, there was a different sort of sadness about him tucked beneath the surface—there to stay.

Morose and muted, Scorpius hadn't smiled much in the recent days, and he seemed to struggle harder with Malfoy's recent streak of absences. His distress was palpable, a living, breathing entity that worried Hermione more and more. He held on to her cardigan tighter, her hand during their first book reading, tried harder to decipher his father's letters, kept the sprigs longer (if he let go of them at all), and stared at the blank parchment spelled to send pictures and notes to Albus as if he didn't know what he wanted to convey… all the while knowing he wanted to say _something_.

But couldn't.

He'd picked up the spelled marker multiple times just to place it right back on the table.

The words were trapped.

Scorpius hadn't fallen back to the boy from the window, but his melancholy echoed. The internal battle waged, and Hermione spent most of each day trying to help free the block he seemed to be trapped behind. She didn't have much success. Yesterday afternoon, she had even found him in the cabinets again, and after coaxing him out with little effort, they sat on the floor together, with him leaned against her, until Catherine came to look for him. Hermione made her wait until he was ready.

Scorpius wasn't far from her mind when she spelled the spines of the cactus not to prick.

Then Hermione continued preparing for the day ahead.

Narcissa was to spend the solstice dining with the Greengrass family and Scorpius, so dinner wouldn't be necessary. And when she went to grab a bit of Valerian root to show Scorpius—as she'd promised him the previous day—Hermione hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the prickly little succulent.

Perhaps that would do.

The next place she sat the cactus down was on the empty coffee table in the living room of the Malfoy's home. When she ventured into the kitchen, evidence of change awaited her in the form of no Malfoy, just as it had the last three mornings, but she spotted the cup of tea that had been steeped to her preference and preserved under charms.

It had started as a thank you of sorts, a small gesture of appreciation for defending him as she had, an act that—after another hour of posturing—had made them officially reverse their decision to demote him. Malfoy's absence that morning wasn't a surprise, but something she had come to expect in the last few days.

The murders had made front page news, creating a public frenzy that put everyone on high alert. Security measures had been increased at both the Ministry and St Mungo's, as well as all public wizarding locations like Diagon Alley. The papers were busy churning out stories and opinion pieces about the deaths, previously suppressed stories regarding various kidnappings (far more than Hermione even knew), and the Ministry's incompetence in their lack of response to, well, _everything_.

Wizarding London had taken centre stage again, and the world was watching.

Instead of creating the scapegoat they wanted in Draco Malfoy, they placed the blame on Death Eaters, and took the well-deserved brunt of the decline in public trust. _As they should._ The last four days had been a catastrophe for the Ministry, but the clean up efforts had been better than anything Hermione had seen before. Aurors were pulled from pointless missions, returning home for new orders. Statements had been issued from the Minister and Chief Warlock vowing to take the correct steps in ensuring the safety of everyone—from the top to the bottom.

They were awfully pretty words, but Hermione was only interested in the follow through.

Still, there were major changes occurring. Ginny mentioned yesterday that Harry had been going in at dawn every morning for meetings and returning to the Burrow completely exhausted. She also mentioned that French and American Aurors had arrived for their Task Force team assignments, per the coalition Percy had formed, which explained why she hadn't seen much of Malfoy.

Well, outside of the tea he'd left her.

Which was… _something_.

Hermione didn't dare call the act _nice_ , as Malfoy wasn't a nice man, but for the last three weekday mornings, she'd found herself grasping at straws to figure out what she _could_ call it.

Hours after the Ministry incident, Hermione, who had gotten maybe three hours of sleep, thought he'd left his cup on the table, which alone was unlike him, but the note next to it indicated otherwise.

_Thanks._

She'd taken a suspicious sniff before a tentative sip and had been pleasantly surprised to find he'd prepared it correctly, right down to the honey. Hermione had thought the act a one-time thing until the following Monday morning when she was greeted with a different blend (green tea with peppermint), steeped and flavoured to her liking, as well as a second note.

_Bring more honey._

Which she did—today.

There was no note this morning, only black tea.

Like every other morning, Hermione stared at the drink, wondering, pondering, _thinking_. She knew, like she knew the sun set in the west and rose in the east, that it would be to her preference.

It boggled her mind.

But this was only the third cup he'd made.

Still, Hermione drank her hot tea, closing her eyes momentarily to enjoy it because, yes, it was to her preference (splash of milk). Perhaps Narcissa had taught him because Ron had never _once_ got it right; he fixed her tea the same way no matter what the flavours were, even after she explained there was a difference.

The flavours and varying blends of the last three cups had been just as complicated as the man that had brewed it. By the time Hermione finished turning over questions about the meaning behind boiled water and tea leaves like she was in Divination all over again, her cup was empty and she was just as frustrated as she had been in Third Year.

And just as mentally exhausted.

But that weariness wasn't exclusive to him.

There was a growing feeling in the pit of her stomach, a twist of anxiety that had followed her since the warning and vandalising of Harry's home. The raid. The movement. Every danger in her line of sight. All of it blended together in a crescendo of problems that were nudging her, calling for more of her attention.

Change was happening everywhere, not just to the Ministry or her morning routine, but in other aspects of her life as well. Hermione typically went relatively unnoticed in public, but a trip to Diagon Alley Saturday had left whispers in her wake, and an errand to Godric's Hollow Sunday drew more looks than usual.

It was… well, now wasn't the time to give it any more mental space.

Hermione parted ways with her thoughts to face the day ahead, leaving them to dry along with her teacup. She made breakfast for Narcissa and left it under preservation charms. Venturing down the hall, she saw Keating leaving Narcissa's room with a roll of parchment, which likely contained the results from her most recent diagnostic charms.

"Good morning, Miss Granger." The witch greeted her with a polite nod. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you. How was Narcissa's night?" She nodded in the direction of the shut door.

"No major incidents, but she reported smaller neuromuscular issues pertaining to her grip and weakness in her legs last night. She's dressing to garden with you, but perhaps it might be wise to skip today."

"Perhaps." Hermione accepted the parchment and scanned the results, frowning. "I'll allow Narcissa to make that decision. She knows her body better than any of us." They took a walk to the room where Sachs was waiting for their morning briefing. "Good morning, Sachs."

"Morning."

There hadn't been many niceties exchanged between her and Sachs since Narcissa's incident, but she hadn't had any problems from her either. Sachs did her job, stopped catering to their patient's whims, and followed the rules Hermione had crafted months ago. It would be a long assignment if things remained as cool as they were now, but Hermione wanted it to marinate a little longer before she approached the other woman.

Hermione kept the briefing short, as she had a scheduled call with Charles. She also needed to do more research regarding possible improvements to Narcissa's potions, and read more of the patient files given to her by Roger. Keating gave a full report of the evening, and they reviewed everything together: the results of her diagnostic charms, Narcissa's plans for the day, and any concerns any of them had. It might have been tense, but they were working more like a team now than ever before. Keating looked a little worn after staying up all night, so Hermione dismissed them both and went upstairs to the empty office she'd taken over since Malfoy's was off limits.

The space was empty, much like most of the rooms in the house. No paintings hung on the walls and there was no décor, just a heavy, mahogany desk with a thick glass plate on top, and an accompanying chair. The only thing remotely personal was the stack of patient files that waited for her here, as her office at home was covered with all her research notes on various potion attempts. The emptiness didn't bother her as much as it probably should have, in fact, it helped her focus.

Thankfully, the call with Charles was cut short because reviewing the files she'd received from Roger was a slow, tedious process, but Hermione learned so much from reading about the different stages of the illness from other patients. Comparing prescribed potions and the difference between those who went the magical route versus the Muggle route for treatment, she then cross-referenced the information against those who went through both.

The latter fared much better.

It brought back to the forefront of her mind an old argument: Narcissa's resistance to any Muggle intervention. And in her attempt to keep the peace, she hadn't delved into the root cause of her patient's issues nor the reason for her objections.

Hermione started building her case mentally while reviewing the top file of a wizard who had used both methods of treatment and had lived an unheard of _six years_ after diagnosis. She voraciously read through the extremely detailed account, noting the therapy methods, the options, when and how long it took for the memory and motor issues to take hold and remain.

In fact, Hermione read and notated for so long she lost track of time.

An accidental glance at her watch made her do a double take. She was late for breakfast. After closing the file, Hermione left it behind, returning to the kitchen…

Where an adult and a child were at an impasse on either side of the long kitchen table.

The composed standoff was so Malfoy-esque Hermione almost laughed. _Almost._ Neither seemed to be backing down, which was even more comical, given the age gap.

Narcissa sat across from her grandson, repeatedly tapping her fingernail on the table while staring at Scorpius, who returned her glare with a stubborn gleam in his blue eyes. What made it worse was the fact that his hair was gelled and parted too severely for his age, and when combined with his expression, it made him look older. Harsh.

Like his father.

"You need to eat, Scorpius," Narcissa said in an authoritative tone. "We have been through this and I will not tolerate further insolence."

He blinked slowly as if she were speaking an unknown language, then pocketed his father's note and stared placidly at his food, huffing out a small sigh. Despite Scorpius being a hyper-obedient child, it wasn't the first time she'd witnessed a stare-off he was involved in, but it was usually over him not wanting to attend lessons.

And she'd _never_ seen it happen with Narcissa.

Before him sat a Full English Breakfast: bacon, sausage, eggs, black pudding, baked beans, tomatoes and mushrooms, and toast.

It remained untouched.

Narcissa looked close to cracking. "Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy if you—"

"Good _morning_ , everyone!" Two blond heads turned in her direction. The younger looked more pleased to see her than the older. He sat straighter, fully giving her the attention he refused to give his grandmother. She gave Scorpius a smile before shifting her gaze to Narcissa, who watched the exchange with a pinched expression. "What's going on here?"

"Scorpius _refuses_ to eat the food Zippy has prepared."

Which confirmed the issue.

The meal was something Narcissa would eat, had Hermione not already prepared hers.

"It looks… complicated. Children can be picky eaters, which is normal. Have you tried—"

"Of course not." Narcissa's nose was turned up. "He will eat _now_ or not at all."

Judging by Scorpius' disposition, the latter was most likely.

Hermione joined them, taking Narcissa's usual seat at the head of the table, and putting herself between the Malfoys, who had resumed their staring contest. She cleared her throat, and stepped into the role of mediator.

One wouldn't back down, set completely in their ways, but the other… she _might_ have more success with.

"Scorpius."

The little boy looked at her.

"Let's see." She brought her finger to her chin, tapping. "If you eat two bites of everything, I'll make you cheese toasties for lunch."

" _Miss Granger—"_

"Do you want him to eat or _not_?" She gave Narcissa a hard glare before returning to Scorpius, resuming to her default smile. "What do you say?"

Blue eyes narrowed.

She needed to sweeten the deal.

" _And_ we can eat outside for lunch." Hermione looked at Narcissa, who glared between them hard and long before resting her hands in her lap properly and pursing her lips, but the woman didn't object.

Great.

Now the ball was in Scorpius' metaphorical court.

His face contorted adorably, considering, but it wasn't long before he agreed with a nod. Hermione grinned and extended her hand for him to shake to seal the deal.

Scorpius looked at her hand. Then her.

To the average person, he probably appeared pensive. She, on the other hand, while no expert on every one of his expressions, recognised the little signs that Scorpius was only hesitating so as not to seem too eager.

Which was… rather Slytherin of him.

Still, she kept her hand extended long enough for him to wipe his hands on his napkin with the manners expected of him before shaking her hand hesitantly. His eyes lifted to hers with shy determination; light pink tinted his cheeks.

"Go on then." She nodded towards his plate and they both waited until he did exactly as they had agreed upon. He actually ended up eating the mushrooms and tomatoes, taking two bites of egg, and ate the entire piece of toast, but distastefully frowned at the sausage and bacon. He didn't like it at all.

_Hmm._

Breakfast passed with Scorpius blinking like a baby owl while Narcissa was transparent about her latest complaints regarding her strength and moments she'd forgotten whether she was coming or going. Hermione was torn between encouraging her openness and discouraging her from sharing when Scorpius was around. He was perceptive, focused on the words coming from her mouth, and while it likely didn't make sense to the five-year-old, Hermione doubted she'd had any discussion with him about her disease. Nevertheless, she waited until Catherine came to collect Scorpius before addressing her patient's concerns.

"Keating told me your concerns have been going on since last night."

"It started at dinner yesterday and has only gotten worse. I feel like I can hardly lift my teacup and I have intermittent tremors. Also, I am very tired, but not sleepy. It is a strange feeling."

"I wonder if you're fully recovered from collapsing."

Narcissa touched her necklace. "I feel fine otherwise."

A small voice in the back of her mind wondered if this was a sign that her disease was progressing. Outside an accidental Apparition incident or two, and instances of basic forgetfulness with regards to names and places she put certain items, she'd been relatively stable. It made Hermione anxious to push her research efforts to the front of the line. Charles had shared details of their failed efforts to create a potion to slow her disease's progression, maybe it was time to figure out the root cause of the failure.

_What was the missing piece?_

When Hermione returned from the library in her mind, Narcissa was staring at her. "Sorry."

"I am ready to garden. I have scheduled an extra half an hour today."

"If you'd like, we can skip today."

"No" Her response was curt yet determined. Narcissa stood, smoothing down her clothes. "I have seen what my absence has done to your garden. Your roses need me."

* * *

For Hermione, taking notes was essential.

Memories faded quickly, so she always used her notes as a reference for later. At first, she noted little observations about Narcissa while she worked in the garden: weakness in her grip, recurring tremor in her hands, difficulty holding the pruners for too long. Hermione had written almost a page concerning her physiological changes in the first half hour, complete with additional thoughts crammed in the margins.

Narcissa was on her knees with one ungloved hand in the dirt, frowning in disappointment, before wiping her hand and putting her glove back on. "You do not water your roses enough. Twice a week should do now that it is summer. Before you water, be sure that the soil has not completely dried out. This will determine just how much water you should use."

_Water roses twice a week. Feel dirt._

Narcissa turned her attention to a rose near the bottom. "You have to be careful about getting dirt on the blooms. What is the point of roses if they are dirty?"

_Must keep dirt off the blooms._

"And do remember that your Sanders White roses are to be treated differently than your climbing roses in your conservatory. You train these by simply cutting out some of the old stems at the base."

_Cut old stems at the b—_

"Miss Granger!" An exasperated Narcissa Malfoy made her pause. She slowly got to her feet, wincing a bit. Hermione reached out to steady her with a hand that her patient stubbornly waved off. "I am fine."

But Hermione didn't miss the tremor in her arm. She was about to record it when an aggravated huff stopped her.

"Must you _incessantly_ take notes?" Narcissa snapped. "You should be _watching_ or even _helping_."

"I learn better this way."

"Repetition also aids in learning." Narcissa folded her arms, giving Hermione a long, reproachful look. After casting another glance at her roses, she asked, "What made you decide to plant roses, Miss Granger?"

"They draw pollinators."

Hermione had never seen anyone roll their eyes with grace. "I suppose that is a better response than something asinine, but with your colourful opinions about everything, it astounds me how dull you are."

" _Excuse me_?"

"I meant no offence." Actually, it sounded like she meant every word of what she had said, but Hermione listened instead of speaking. "Roses are more than just _pollinators_ or beautiful blooms. They are _history_ in a flower, a universal language, and have medicinal properties. As someone who brews and creates balms as you do, I would think that you would use your roses to their full potential."

"Mainly I brew potions for patients." Hermione glanced down at her notes. "I don't mind brewing, but it's not my passion. More of a necessity. I trust my own potions over those manufactured in great quantities. I hardly brew anything for myself."

"What _do_ you do for yourself?" Narcissa's question gave Hermione serious pause, putting her on notice that she was standing at the edge. "I have wondered about this for a few months."

Hermione had no answer. The seconds following her statement seemed to pass as if the words were caught in molasses, wanting neither to be said nor heard. She shifted uncomfortably, looking into the distance at the treeline, hoping it would keep her relaxed under the scrutiny.

"Perhaps your garden is yours, but not exclusively when so much of it—and your efforts—go to the benefit of others." Unexpectedly, Narcissa started towards the house, effectively ending the conversation. Hermione followed, wondering if time was up, but Narcissa still had her gloves on, which meant she was heading to the conservatory to work on the climbing roses.

Deadheading was the only thing she could think of that needed to be done. Narcissa took her time watering the roses with her wand while Hermione started twisting off as many dying blooms as she could see to speed the gardening session up.

But then Narcissa stayed her hand.

"Watch and learn." She pulled out her pruners and Hermione looked on as Narcissa pinched, then cut off the finished flower just below where the base joined the stem. "Your method, while not incorrect, is ill-advised for climbing roses. These bloom once." Narcissa's eyes travelled to the top of the trellis where the roses didn't reach. "We should prune immediately, but let's rearrange this into a more horizontal position. They will grow better this way."

"But they naturally grew like this."

"Nothing that magic can't fix before they bloom next."

They worked in a companionable silence for a long while. Hermione was using her wand to reroute the last of the canes as directed, when Narcissa, who had just decided to take a rest on the sofa, broke the silence.

"People are beginning to talk."

She stopped working.

"About?"

" _You_." Narcissa's eyes were sharp, narrowed, her face even in a way that made it hard to read. The only thing that was clear was she wanted to have a conversation. It explained her extended gardening time. Hermione made a mental note of the tactic for future reference. "There are growing whispers of you all over society, Miss Granger. Your stunt with the Wizengamot is all people are talking about."

News travelled fast in the wizarding world, but Hermione had no idea it had made it _that_ far.

That fast.

Not certain the direction the conversation was headed, she chose her words as carefully as she should with a woman like Narcissa. "Do you have any concerns you wish to address?"

"My only concern is if I will have a different Healer in the next year." She made herself more comfortable on the sofa. "And if my current Healer will be making her _brilliant_ return to politics."

"Is that what people are saying?"

"Yes." One clipped word from a witch who appeared as aloof as she was not. Narcissa removed her gardening gloves with exaggerated movements, placing them next to her. "And what is your response to the rumours?"

"My response is that I am a Healer. _Your_ Healer."

Like a punctured balloon, she all but deflated, the hard corners of her mouth relaxing as she shook her head. "Good." She rubbed her hands together. "There is nothing wrong with ambition, but I selfishly would _hate_ to have to acclimate to another Healer so soon."

"I have no ambitions of being a politician, but I'm sure you're as tired as I am of the current situation in the Ministry."

"No one is blind to the activities of the ruling Wizengamot." Narcissa crossed her legs politely. "The corruption is blatant and the way they ignore all the dangers posed by the Death Eaters is quite reprehensible. With that being said, I am in no position to take action."

"You might be one person but you _can_ make a difference."

"Is that what you intend to do, Miss Granger?" The taunt in her tone was impossible to miss. "Charge in like a warrior and bend the Wizengamot to your will. Is that how you plan to make a difference?"

"I already did that once and it saved your son's job."

That shut her up.

There was a pep of satisfaction in Hermione's step when she returned to her task—or tried to.

"My son does not _need_ the job he insists on having. He has duties, an obligation to the preservation of this family and its future. _That_ is his occupation. It is not his job to run after Death Eaters, nearly get himself _killed_ , or ally himself with a movement that will fail." She reached for the glass of water on the table in front of her, sipping it slowly. "The odds of success are not in—"

"I've overcome worse odds. Nearly impossible ones, in fact. Yet here I am."

"You are delusional if you think you alone can change things."

" _I don't_ ," Hermione argued with a passion she forced herself to rein in when she saw the other woman's brow quirk. She tried it again, calmer, despite the spark in her veins. "I don't. Nor do I believe I can do this alone because I'm _not_ alone." A thought sprang forth suddenly and Hermione couldn't have held it back if she'd tried, which she did not. "But _you_ were alone when you came to Harry's side that night in the forest. And _you_ changed _everything_."

Silence returned with a vengeance, heavier than before. Sneaking glances provided a visual of a thoughtful Narcissa sipping her water. She then went to the window, gazing out at the sun-soaked greenery surrounding her home. Light bathed the conservatory, touching Narcissa's pale skin and hair in a way that made her glow.

"That decision cost me everything I hadn't already lost."

Hermione joined her by the window, placing her pruners into her apron. For a moment, she took in the same sight Narcissa seemed to be lost in.

"Do you regret it? Helping Harry?"

"Not for a moment. I did it for Draco."

There they remained, standing side by side, until Hermione went back to her task. They did not return to the subject; instead, Narcissa shifted to a topic Hermione didn't expect.

"For weeks I have watched your interactions with Scorpius. He likes you."

"I'm good with children." Hermione couldn't help but smile at the thought. "Harry has _three_ and I've been part of their lives since birth. It's forever an adventure."

"Be that as it may…" Narcissa turned her back to the window completely. "When you speak to him, Scorpius listens. You have more control over him than his nanny." Hermione shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Scorpius is obedient, but it is not because he wants to be. He obeys because it is expected of him and I have made certain he knows that. Still, he _is_ difficult at times. If you were not already employed, I would hire you to _make_ him speak."

"Are you certain you want to have this discussion?"

They were teetering on the brink of dangerous territory. Hermione had _opinions_ and they toed every line she had been trying _desperately_ not to cross.

"I'm merely making conversation based off of an observation."

"I have made _many_ observations since starting, but at the same time, I'm your Healer and you're my patient. I am trying to respect that relationship by not speaking my entire piece as it pertains to Scorpius."

Hermione gripped every last thread of her self control, but Narcissa kept pushing.

"Didn't you once say that family is important to your methodology as far as the care you provide? Scorpius is _my_ family. He does not like many people, so I find his persistent fascination with you interesting. You bring him plants daily and have started reading to him, and while I could easily ask Catherine to do the same, it would not have the same impact. So, indulge me. What have you said to him?"

"Narcissa…"

"I am allowing you to speak your mind."

Hermione knew the other witch wouldn't stop, so she gave in.

Relented.

" _Fine_." Hermione already knew this would not end well even though Narcissa looked pleased with herself. "First, Scorpius doesn't like many people because he doesn't _know_ many people." Nor would he, given his schedule and seclusion. But Hermione didn't say that, she promised herself she'd leave it there. Walk away. She had said enough. But the opinion was fully formed and exited her mouth before she could stop it. "Second, it's never crossed my mind to try and _control him_ as _you_ do. That's the difference between _obedience_ and _respect_."

"Ah." Narcissa's lips twitched. "This is your liberal way of thinking in action. You compromise and cajole. He's a child and as such—"

"Yes, he is. Not that you treat him like one. You also want him to be strong enough to face the scrutiny of a harsh world, but you don't allow him to make a single choice of his own. His schedule is so rigid it—"

"Scorpius is learning everything that a Malfoy heir should know: languages, etiquette, maths, literature, history, and art—most magical and Muggle—and pureblood customs and the reason for their importance. It is what Draco learned at his age."

"There is nothing wrong with an education, but—"

"Furthermore, Miss Granger, it is _my_ duty as the matriarch to raise him and teach him." Yet again, Hermione considered abandoning the conversation before it escalated beyond her control. She took a measured breath to quell her impulses, but Narcissa _had_ to add something onto her comment that kept Hermione right where she was. "That is, until Draco marries. Then his new wife will assume the role, and its duties and responsibilities. It will be written in the contract, but each of his prospects know their expectations."

"He has prospects?"

"There are several young witches I have picked out that would make a _fine_ Malfoy wife."

_Picked out._

She barely disguised her repulsion.

"And what if he _doesn't_ remarry?" There were several examples Hermione could immediately call to mind of him rejecting the prospect. _Fine_ or not. "You said it yourself, he's biding his time and dragging his feet. There will come a time when you can't perform your duties as the Malfoy Matriarch—"

"The staff knows exactly what to do when that time comes, but I fully intend to have Draco married before then. Even if I have to force him." A spark of hot anger raced through her at the thought. "Scorpius needs a mother."

"He _also_ needs his father."

Narcissa blinked at her vehemence. "It is not my son's duty to rear Scorpius at this age. He is too young and it is simply not proper. _I_ raised Draco until his father stepped in to show him how to be a man." Hermione inwardly cringed at the thought of what those lessons might have entailed. "My mother raised my sisters and I. Should I have had a brother, my father would have shown him how to be a man at the proper age. Generations and generations of purebloods have been raised this way."

Hermione had to focus on the simple act of pocketing her wand to _physically_ stop herself from pointing out the flaws in her logic. Namely, the sort of person her traditions had brainwashed her son into becoming: a bigot, a bully, bred to believe he was better than everyone and taught to hate those who were different.

After all, children weren't born with hate in their hearts. It was taught. And that learned hate had rotted Draco Malfoy from within.

 _That_ had been _her_ doing.

His parents' doing together.

And, in the end, it had also been their undoing.

But perhaps Narcissa would teach Scorpius a new way. A better one. Perhaps he would be raised to become a more tolerant person. Maybe out of necessity or maybe because she had _truly_ seen the error in her ways. Hermione didn't know what the future held—none of them did—but she was certain of one thing: Narcissa couldn't raise Scorpius as she had Draco and expect a different outcome.

That was _madness_.

"I don't understand your traditions. I was lucky to have both of my parents raise me together. That's the only life I know, just like this way is all _you_ know. My parents are retired dentists, and I never wanted for anything. Though, they _are_ quite different from one another. From my mother, I got my stubbornness, my fire, and my determination." Hermione knew those same similarities were why they were _still_ not speaking. "But from my father, I learned to be proud of who I am and strive for more. What works best. And by watching him paint and listen to music every day, I learned how to appreciate something I don't understand. I'm not certain who I would be without his presence or quiet guidance. I am thirty-one and I've _never_ needed him more than I do now."

"My son is a busy man. Busy with tasks of his own creation. He knows nothing about child rearing. Additionally, the threat we face daily is…" The woman trailed off as if she'd said too much. Or was about to. "Regardless, he has no time to invest in Scorpius, and given the state of things, it does not seem that he will in the near future either. But when it is proper, he will take over."

Hermione gave herself time to think about her words and their customs before spewing her opinions everywhere. Which was growth from the person she once had been, the person who aired her opinions simply because she thought she was right.

She used the quiet to clean the mess they had made pruning the climbing roses. To work off her frustration, Hermione swept the floors, feeling Narcissa's eyes on her all the while, watching her every move. And just when she was putting the last of the waste into the bin, a question filtered across the room.

"Has Scorpius spoken to you?" It had been asked in an uncharacteristic rush, almost as if Narcissa had weighed her options and asking won out because she _needed_ to know.

"No." Hermione binned the dead petals. Hermione joined Narcissa on the sofa, taking the seat farthest away. "Why do you ask?"

"I was advised his silence was a phase."

"Advised by who?"

"Sachs and Catherine."

"Forgive me for asking, but what does Sachs know about children?"

"What do _you_ know about children?" Narcissa questioned with a supercilious head tilt. "You have experience with Harry Potter's children, yes, but you have none of your own—"

"I don't _need_ to be a mother to recognise when a child is in pain, when they're lonely and isolated. Scorpius is all of those things. Certainly, as his grandmother, you should see it, too."

"Malfoys are resilient."

"He's a _child_. He's not unbreakable." Hermione's face contorted in anger. "He is under _significant_ and _constant_ strain. The fact that he doesn't act out shouldn't make you believe he's fine. In fact, his silence should tell you that he's anything but!"

Narcissa turned to look around the room, and while it was a sign of dismissiveness from anyone else, Hermione recognised it for what it truly was: a sign that she had her undivided attention.

"He's struggling and _grieving_ and you all treat him like he's supposed to be fine." Narcissa looked at her, shocked by her vehemence, but there was no way Hermione could keep her emotions at bay even a second longer. "You treat him like he's supposed to move on and ignore the gaping hole in his life, like he's supposed to do all the right things when his entire world is _wrong_. Narcissa, he lost his _mother,_ and instead of helping him cope, instead of helping him thrive, you're smothering _her_ out of him." Hermione was visibly shaking with anger and overwhelmed with sadness for a boy she'd only known a few months. "You know how to tend to my flowers better than you know how to tend to your own grandson and _that's_ —"

"I am not ignorant to this, Miss Granger." Narcissa's voice was colder than Hermione imagined she could ever sound. "I _have_ noticed." Her mouth tipped into a frown as she looked down at her hands in her lap. "I _do_ understand what it is like to lose someone. I understand what it is like to grieve."

"And that makes your treatment of him infinitely worse."

* * *

The Summer Solstice was living up to its true identity: the longest day of the year.

Narcissa had left at the end of their session and Hermione had not followed. Instead, she took a moment and watched the sun as it climbed the morning sky.

It was just past ten in the morning and had she not promised cheese toasties and an outdoor lunch to Scorpius _or_ left her cactus, Hermione wouldn't have returned to the Malfoys' house that day at all.

But she had and she did.

According to Zippy, Narcissa had gone to a meeting with a potential wife and had taken Sachs with her.

She rolled her eyes, but was unable to focus on work.

Instead, she made a trip to a Muggle bookstore close to the Malfoys' home, returning a short time later with her purchases. Two books. Hermione set an alarm, closed herself in her office in their home, and studied a subject she had never learned with single-minded focus.

_Sign language._

When her alarm went off, Hermione brought the first book along with her to the kitchen to fix Scorpius' lunch. By the time she'd finished, Catherine came into the room looking harried.

"I'm not going to make it for lunch today. I am revising Scorpius' lessons plan with Mr Graves. I'll send Scorpius down. You don't mind eating lunch with just him, do you?"

"Of course I don't. Here, I made this for you." It took just a moment for Hermione to retrieve and heat the meal she'd pre-made for them both. The witch accepted it with a gracious smile. "As for Scorpius, I owe him an outdoor lunch anyway."

"Oh! He'll love that. He's not had a good day so far."

Living proof of her statement entered the kitchen, looking just as sullen as ever. Hermione gave him a smile intended to comfort.

"Looks like it's just you and me for lunch today." There was a tiny spark in his eyes that filled her with hope. "Just one minute, okay?"

Scorpius nodded and Hermione turned to finish gathering everything she would need for them both. A juice for him from the refrigerator. Napkins. Her own meal and a fork. His plate of cheese toasties. Fresh cut fruit and vegetables.

But when she turned back around, he wasn't there.

Frowning, Hermione scanned the room, and found him on his knees by the coffee table. He was torn between the parchment he'd apparently gone to fetch and the cactus. Hermione let him continue uninterrupted, observing as he placed his elbows on the edge of the table, head in his hands. His focus shifted to the leaning plant. There was a mix of careful examination and fascination in his eyes that made Hermione finally put everything down and join him.

"It's a cactus." Hermione sat with her legs crossed. "They're prickly and they can hurt, so don't touch it, okay?" It was a warning she felt she needed to give, despite the charms she'd placed on the plant that morning.

Scorpius gave a slow, careful nod, then turned his head as if he were trying to look at it straight.

He didn't understand why it leaned.

"They don't all look like this, but this one was sad when I found it."

He looked at her, then back at the cactus. Small fingers ran along the bottom of the pot, his face pulled into a frown of genuine concern, as if he were trying to comfort it the only way he knew how. By holding on to it. Just as he held on to her. That familiar swell of emotions rose, affection that belonged only to Scorpius and the empathy he showed in the smallest of actions. His kindness she wanted so much to preserve… just as she had the cactus.

They were the same in that way.

Both silent when she found them, both dying to be noticed and accepted, both alone…

But not anymore.

"Do you like it?" Her hand joined his on the pot, making the little boy lift his eyes to hers and nod as his mouth curved into a slow smile. It was leaps better than the sullenness from the past few days. "This little one isn't better yet, but he's safe and warm. The better he feels, the straighter he'll stand, and the stronger he'll get. He needs time… and a friend. Like Albus is your friend."

That made him look at the parchment.

"Do you want to send a message?" Scorpius nodded but sighed. Hermione tried something else, remembering his problem with his father. "Do you not know what to say?"

He only bit his lip and glanced at the marker, but that was as good as affirmation.

"If Albus was here right now, what would you do?" He lifted his hand to wave and she smiled softly. "Okay, you'd say hi, so let's start there. Can you spell the word?" Scorpius nodded and gave her a nervous look when she handed him the spelled marker. He was learning everything a Malfoy _should_ except a way to communicate.

Until he was ready to use his voice, this would be his first lesson in reaching out.

But not the last.

"Albus wants to hear from you. It doesn't matter what the message says."

The parallel between this moment and every morning Scorpius watched his father leave was something Hermione couldn't ignore. His acceptance of the marker with his left hand made her hopeful, and she looked on with bated breath as he wrote two letters at the centre of the page in a scrawl apt for a five-year-old. The word faded and disappeared, signifying the charm had worked. They looked at each other over the parchment, but what appeared several minutes later wasn't words.

It was a picture.

That looked like… a chicken? _Maybe_? It was hideous, but that didn't matter because Scorpius _laughed._ It was open and pure, and though it only lasted for a few seconds, Hermione would never forget that sound. The hours it took to make this charmed parchment work were absolutely worth it.

"Where are the rest of your special markers?"

He scrambled off to get them, returning with two handfuls of the coloured markers she'd given him last Friday. Scorpius laid them on the glass tabletop, then picked up and shook the parchment like she'd instructed days ago. Only then would the picture disappear.

"Do you want to draw Albus a picture?" Scorpius nodded, looking around, face scrunched in thought as he tried to figure out what to draw. "How about the cactus?"

It didn't come out half bad. He'd coloured outside the lines a few times, and the cactus looked more like a prickly weed that grew in the pasture beyond her garden with exaggerated spines, but the lean of the plant was right and Hermione just as proud as Scorpius looked. Before it vanished, she added a little message for Albus—and likely Fleur, who was with him—that they were going to eat lunch and would be back after for more picture messages.

"Time for lunch."

Scorpius looked at the cactus, his face cycling through a series of emotions before he settled on _determination_. He stood and picked up the pot, blinking at her in such a way that told Hermione they were having a third guest for lunch.

"Of course."

When asked to choose between the grass and the table, he chose the former. Hermione found a blanket somewhere in the depths of her enchanted bag, and spread it out with magic. Scorpius set the potted cactus down carefully before he abandoned his blazer and shoes, neatly stacking them off to the side, and Hermione did the same. A quick decision made her rush back in to bring out only his lunch—she could eat later—and when she returned, Scorpius was still standing in the grass, cactus back in his hands, waiting for her.

They sat cross-legged facing each other with the cactus in the grass next to Scorpius, Hermione watched him enjoy his cheese toasties as he turned his face towards the sun after each bite. With his eyes shut tight, he looked at peace. She only interrupted him once to put a sunscreen charm on his face, arms, and legs—something he didn't appreciate, making several displeased faces as she made sure he was completely protected from the rays of the sun. When she finished, Hermione did the same to herself.

"Today is the longest day of the year." Scorpius lowered his head, confusion expressed clearly. "It's the day when the sun is out for the most hours. We're celebrating it now, by having lunch in the sun."

The want to do _more_ next solstice was there, coupled with the growing fierce desire for him to experience everything each day had to offer. He deserved it. Scorpius considered her words before he picked up his uneaten second half, offering it to her with a dimpling smile.

_He was sharing._

"I made that for _you_." Hermione grinned, but he didn't give up. In fact, Scorpius was _more_ insistent, his hand trembling from the effort to hold it aloft. Her smile faded. Refusal wasn't an option, so she accepted the offering graciously. "Thank you." There was a blush high on his cheeks while the little boy waited for her to take a bite, and only then did he resume eating his own. "It's delicious."

In no time, they finished their halves and shared the fruit and vegetables at his insistence.

"I want to show you something I'm going to learn with you." Scorpius was confused at first, then even more so when Hermione pulled out her sign language book and found the right letters to sign to him. "We're going to speak with our hands."

She started with the same two letters he'd written to Albus on the magical parchment. A greeting. Hermione fumbled to match the drawings in the book while Scorpius looked on in growing curiosity.

" _H_ and _I_." Hermione signed the letters appropriately, better the second time. " _Hi._ " That was it. She showed him again, speaking the word simultaneously. "Now you try it."

Scorpius did so, one letter at a time.

 _H-I_.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. Together they worked to get his fingers right, and when he did it correctly on his own, with understanding of what those two letters combined to mean, it felt like every bit of the beginning it was.

Two letters they signed back and forth.

One word exchanged until Scorpius' happiness was as bright as the sun.

Ecstatic to be able to speak in his own way.

"Do you want to learn more?"

When Scorpius nodded enthusiastically, and Hermione was eager to show him more. She thought of everything she could teach him with the time they had already planning to show him more tomorrow. And the next day. That was how they spent the rest of lunch: learning the alphabet in a language that was new to them both.

Communication in its most perfect form.

* * *

By the time Hermione arrived at Pansy's Summer Solstice party, it was already alive with the spirit of the changing season.

Theo's family home was situated on a plot of land that didn't exist on any map, and the grounds were just as grand as the manor itself. After going through the additional security measures, Hermione walked down the stone steps that led to the party. Hermione took a moment not only to look around at all the people having a good time, but also to see if she could spot any familiar faces without having to get lost in the crowd to do so.

There were people _everywhere_.

Pansy's theme had been solstice celebrations around the world. Hermione saw people celebrating around the bonfire at the far end of the grounds, others were on the other side with a replica of Stonehenge that was honestly impressive, and another group of people were dancing under a soundproof magical dome on the dance floor, where there was an enormous midsummer maypole covered in vines and flowers in the centre.

Every table she saw was heavily decorated with flower centrepieces. Some guests were eating, and some were talking in groups. From the looks of it—with the long line of food items—dinner hadn't been an organised affair. It appeared the guest could choose when and what to eat and when to enjoy the party. Most were choosing to enjoy the festivities. And their celebrations were made infinitely easier by the fountain of endlessly cascading cocktails laced with the inhibition potion. Around it were floating cups and spouts for guests to retrieve.

It ended up being her first stop, if only to test her potion at work.

After the first sip, Hermione felt proud of herself. She didn't _feel_ different.

Just lighter and more relaxed.

She _needed_ that.

_Truly._

Warm from a rare sunny day, but not hot, thanks to a breeze from the east, the air was nice, despite the faint smell of ash from the bonfire. Sunset began to touch the sky, painting various shades of red, yellow, pink, and orange against the clouds; the heavens were as beautifully decorated as the party.

Hermione wandered around looking for her friends, and taking in the sights of witches dressed up to celebrate the changing season. Some she knew well enough to stop and speak to, like schoolmates from different years. Some she knew distantly from when she'd worked at the Ministry. Some she could hardly recall, only slightly familiar faces from a time of her life she had been too overworked to remember. However, the vast majority were people Hermione didn't know at all.

But that didn't stop some from looking at her as she passed and whispering to each other.

News travelled fast, but Hermione was there to forget everything and enjoy herself, and as such, she refused to pay them much mind.

The style of dress was eclectic at best, and it made her feel plain in her blue and white paisley romper that Pansy had magically hemmed to fall above her knees—too short for her comfort. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't have any other options, so there she was, with her romper, sandals, and a white flower crown atop her loose curls.

Another floral headdress acted as a beacon that led her to her friends.

 _Luna's_.

Who else would be wearing one as bold and large as hers?

Luna was dressed like a fairy with an elaborate headdress, her long blonde hair flowing down her back. Neville stood at her side content in trousers, a white shirt, and an ivy crown of his own. He was the only man who'd dared. They were standing with Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Lisa Turpin, who was holding Ron's hand. His… date?

Good for him.

"I _finally_ made it."

Ginny and Luna wrapped her in hugs first. She wasn't surprised to see the latter, as this was one of her favourite days of the year, but the former shocked her, given everything they had going on.

"I didn't know you and Harry were coming."

"We decided we needed a night to relax." Harry wrapped her in a hug. "This place is warded tighter than anything I've ever seen, including your home." That and the magical nondisclosure agreements every guest had to sign for ward admittance made them relax in a way Harry never had at public parties. "How did you find us?"

"Do you _really_ have to ask?"

The group laughed while Luna smiled serenely.

"We found Luna and Neville, then Ron and Lisa found us. We're just going to stay here and see who else Luna's headdress draws in, but so far it's mostly been strangers asking her how she made it."

"The best way to meet friends," Luna said in her normal, dreamy lilt.

"Where's Pansy?" Hermione tried to look around but there were too many people.

Ginny made a wide gesture all around them. "Somewhere out there making my brother's life difficult by quite literally dancing around him. I'd be more defensive if he didn't like the challenge."

" _Still_ trying to figure out how _that_ happened without me noticing." Ron frowned deeply.

They all looked at him with varying degrees of disbelief, and everyone's response was simultaneous: " _I knew."_

Even Lisa had joined in, much to everyone's shock. "I saw them getting dinner last week."

"Mad world." Ron shook his head. "I even saw Draco Malfoy around here." A slightly alarmed Ginny began nudging her brother in the arm repeatedly, but he ignored her. "He was glaring at everyone who tried to speak to him like the self-righteous tosser he is" Harry and Lisa's eyes bugged, but Hermione frowned in confusion. " _Who_ invited that wanker anyway?"

" _I did_."

An irritated voice came from behind her. Hermione looked over her shoulder and found exactly why Ginny had been hitting her brother in warning: _Pansy_. Not that he listened, but at least Ron had the decency to look chastened.

_Slightly._

Pansy wore a floral dress with matching red flowers adorning her head, her short curls brushing her shoulders. With her arms folded and Percy at her back, she directed her anger at Ron.

"He's one of _my_ oldest and best friend, this is _my_ party, and we're _fucking_ _adults_ , so enough with all the childish bullshit." It appeared the inhibition potion was working just fine for Pansy. "If you have a problem—"

Percy rested his hands on her arms, dipped his head, and murmured something in her ear that clearly didn't make her happy, but she did stop.

Barely.

It was a feat considering her deep scowl.

"How long have you been here, Granger?" She acted as if the exchange hadn't happened despite the fact that they were _all_ staring at them in varying degrees of incredulity.

"Not long." Two could play that game. "How did you find us?"

"I think everyone could see her from the moon."

Luna smiled brightly.

Conversation stretched to capacity then stalled to the point where everyone just stood around watching the party. Luna announced that she wanted to dance around the maypole, and it started a domino effect where each declared an activity they wanted to do. Ginny wanted to go with Luna. Lisa wanted to drag Ron over for photos at the life-sized Stonehenge, but he wanted to eat with Neville, Percy, and Harry, so she spotted some people she knew and left to speak to them. Hermione wasn't keen on any of those activities so Pansy dragged her off to socialise.

Before they broke off, each of them wished each other a Happy Solstice with air kisses. Ron's had been a little awkward, but that was to be expected.

For what felt like an hour, she and Pansy wandered around the party. They spotted into Blaise and Padma at the bonfire, with Susan sipping a drink a few feet away. They all watched the flames that had been spelled into different animals and shapes. The sight would be even more captivating after Last Light and late into the night.

Hermione got swept up in the party for an indeterminate amount of time. The energy was electric, the food was great, and the inhibition potion made conversation easier with friends and strangers alike. It was fun. Even Theo had made an appearance, despite his hatred of large crowds, and was talking to Cho off to the side at tables. And when Pansy said hello to Cho— _without grimacing_ —she knew it was going to be a good night.

The only downside was McLaggen, who had approached her the moment she'd separated from Pansy, and tried to steal her away for a dance as though she hadn't seen him four days ago snivelling in the Ministry. _The bastard._ Wands weren't allowed, but the wards did let her cast a wandless Leg-Locker Jinx that made her escape back to Pansy's side easier.

"Who invited him?"

"He probably came as someone's plus one and ditched her." That sounded like something he would do. "He's still subject to the same nondisclosure clause and the security measures, so don't worry about him. If he steps a toe out of line, I'll have security escort him out."

Pansy pointed out all the security team members in the area. They blended into the crowd perfectly.

It was impressive.

While continuing their exploration of Pansy's vision come to life, they spotted a gathering of familiar witches crowded together watching something. Ever the nosy person, Pansy had to investigate, sliding into the thick of it and pulling Hermione along.

"What's going—oh _fuck yes_ , this is _perfection_."

Hermione stepped between her and what turned out to be Padma, who was cringing hard at the sight of her sister flirting with an unresponsive Draco Malfoy.

"Please tell me I'm dreaming," Padma groaned.

"This is _not_ a dream." Pansy looked entirely too amused. "This is better than that time she flirted with that diplomat at my Winter Solstice party."

Hermione remembered it vividly.

"Is that when she thought she was getting somewhere with him, but he didn't speak English?"

"That's the one!"

"I hate you both." Padma's response earned her a blown kiss from a wickedly happy Pansy.

Hermione laughed, but it faded when she took in the sight for herself. Malfoy's face might have been blank, but she caught slight hints of his bewilderment as he glanced at Parvati every few seconds, a frown marring his face. They were seated at an empty table surrounded by other empty tables. Malfoy was dressed in his usual all black while Parvati, who was smiling almost manically, wore colourful silk robes. Oddly enough, he hadn't dismissed her yet, but he _was_ eyeing her strangely.

"She's bolder than me!" Another witch they were standing with laughed. Hermione couldn't recall her name for all the Galleons in her vault. "Fit or not, he looks like he'd snatch the soul from my body."

"I think that's what she's aiming for." Lisa Turpin snorted. "Only with his cock."

The two giggled until Pansy glared at them both. "Don't be crude."

"His mother is auctioning him off to the most advantageous bidder," Lisa pointed out, much to Pansy's growing ire. She ground her teeth at the other witch's comment, but Lisa didn't take the hint. "I _guarantee_ people say worse things about him. I've _heard_ worse about him. They say his wife died to get away—"

"That's uncalled for." Padma spoke up before Hermione could. They were both scowling at the witch who didn't back down. "Don't speak of anything you don't know."

As Blaise's fiancé, for the first time, she wondered what Padma knew.

"He's a fucking _person_ who lost his wife less than a year ago," Pansy snapped, taking a dangerous step towards Lisa. The witches around her shrank back at the mere threat of Pansy. "Have some fucking _decency_."

"I'm not saying anything other people aren't already thinking." Lisa boldly—or stupidly—continued to stand her ground. "And thanks to this potion _you_ provided, and the fact that I've had a few doses, I'm being far more honest than I normally would."

"That's not how the potion works." Hermione cleared her throat. "It's a low dose inhibition potion. No matter how many drinks you have, it will not make the effects more severe. It only works once and lasts until Last Light. It might make you greet someone you don't like or speak your mind in a way you normally wouldn't, but it's not a truth serum nor is it strong enough to make you act like an _arse_."

Padma smothered her amusement with a cough, peeked at her sister, who was still doing cringeworthy things to get Malfoy's attention, then buried her face in her hands and groaned.

Lisa's focus was on Hermione. "And how would you know this?"

"I brewed it myself."

That silenced her quickly.

Padma peeked through her fingers once more before covering her eyes with both hands again. "Oh, Merlin. She's doing that lean she does when she wants someone to see her cleavage. Someone should go save her."

"I would"—Pansy adjusted her flower crown—"but I'm not certain _who_ I would be saving."

Hermione snorted in agreement, but it died when Malfoy's eyes found hers. An unfamiliar jolt shot up her spine at being caught in the group that was watching him. It was patently ridiculous because she was one of _nine_ witches standing there, but he didn't look at any of them, not even Pansy. _Only her_. And only briefly before he turned his attention to the Stonehenge replica. She inhaled to regain her composure and jumped right back into the conversation.

"I should also mention she's _your_ sister."

" _Is she_?" Padma shrilled. "Our parents won't show me the proof."

"Poor Draco looks ready to beat himself over the head with the centrepiece." Pansy wheezed out a laugh, clapping her hands. "Remind me to extract this memory later."

"Oh, she's standing up!" a different witch announced and they all quieted down to watch.

"Thank Merlin!" Padma cheered, but her sister didn't hurry back over as everyone expected. In fact, Parvati stood there while Malfoy sipped his drink, staring at him with a blatant determination that was dressed up as a bad idea. Her sister must have seen the look because the dread in her voice was clear. "Oh _no_. No, no, no, no, _no_."

"Oh, _yes_."

Pansy was the worst.

Hermione wasn't certain what the bad idea would be until Parvati actually attempted it.

She leaned towards Malfoy, lips puckered in preparation to wish him a Happy Solstice with an air kiss—the same thing Hermione had done with each person she'd spoken to (save McLaggen). Her heart stopped for one second during the horribly awkward moment with the quiet hope that Parvati would _at least_ survive without embarrassing herself any further.

In the end, it ended up being every bit as awkward as Pansy hoped it would be.

When Parvati got too close, Malfoy recoiled so hard he actually ended up on his feet, frowning deeply with distaste. Then, he walked off without a second glance. Parvati pouted her way over to her sister's open arms, and the group of onlookers scattered.

Padma patted the back of her head like one would a small child. "There, there. You did your best."

"I thought I was getting somewhere with him." She poked her lip out. "He didn't even say anything abrasive or rude."

"Wait, he didn't?" Padma's brows furrowed. "What _did_ he say?"

"Nothing. He just looked at me, which was bloody _hot_."

"Sweet Circe, how is this my life?" Pansy smacked her own forehead, groaning. "Look, Patil Number Two: the only place you were going was to the reject pile." Hermione and Padma glared at the unapologetic witch. " _What_?" Pansy directed her attention to the sulking Parvati. "I don't know why you do this to yourself."

"I can't help myself, it's in my _blood_." She poked her lip out. "I'm a sucker for a gorgeous man with excellent bone structure and a glare that can stop the Hogwarts Express."

That was… o _ddly specific._

"He's a dick," Padma reminded her. "You _know_ this. You actually _said that_ before you approached him after he rejected that other woman."

"Wait?" Pansy's fascination was piqued. "There were others?"

"Nine of them," Padma confirmed with a bemused expression. "All back to back. Simpering and smiling too wide. All trying to give him a solstice kiss."

"I thought I'd be lucky number ten," Parvati whinged.

"I don't think it works like that." Hermione gathered her hair over her shoulder. "Well, look at it this way, it could have gone a lot worse."

"Could it have?" Parvati raised her head, looking hopeful. "Do you think he fancies me?"

"Not one bloody _tenth_ of a chance." When Hermione glared at Pansy for being harsh, she blinked at her innocently. " _What_? I was being _nice_ when I rounded it up to a tenth."

* * *

Pansy had suggested she visit the Stonehenge replica before dark, promising a stunning sight, and the prospect was interesting enough for her to take the westward walk.

By the time she made it, sunset was in full effect, a stunning display of vivid colours. Oranges and yellows dominated the expanse, but bits of lavenders and pinks were layered in as well. From her vantage point, it looked like heaven. The sun had moved so much yet so little since she'd arrived at the party, which was still thrumming on behind her. The voices of the guests were a blur in the background until she stepped between the stone pillars.

Then it was silent— _still—_ like she was the only person in the entire world.

Alone in time and space.

But that wasn't true.

Standing between two pillars across from her, facing the sunset and the magnificence of the view, was Draco Malfoy.

Once again, Hermione was transfixed.

She couldn't see his face, could hardly see _anything_ except the shadow his body cast in the dying light, but Hermione knew it was him. Before she could even think, her feet were taking step after step, moving closer, shielding her eyes from the sunlight as she passed the stone bench.

From the way he stood—straight and tall with his hands behind his back—to the way the breeze played with his hair, there was an energy pulsing about him that couldn't be replicated, an aura of solitude that Hermione found herself naturally drawn to like plants seeking the sun's warmth. It made no sense, but when Hermione joined him, taking in the sight of eternity bathed in the soft warmth of the sunset, Malfoy didn't seem surprised by her intrusion.

"Is it like the real thing?" She broke the new silence, a breeze lifting her curls gently.

"Yes," he replied without looking. Still focused.

"It's stunning." Hermione leaned against a pillar. Her body faced him but her eyes turned towards the sunset. She was surprised to find that the Stonehenge replica not only _looked_ like stone, but it felt like it too. Sturdy and strong. "I'm actually surprised no one is here."

"They turned around when they saw me and left when I came in." Malfoy looked at her for the first time, and their eyes held steady as the wind touched his hair. "But not you."

For a moment, she found herself lost for words, then rolled the tension off her shoulders as best as she could. "I came to enjoy the sight, regardless of the company. There's enough of it for us both to share."

Malfoy made a noncommittal noise and turned back to the setting sun. Light immersed his face in a warm glow and silence was all they knew in those minutes.

"I suppose I should thank you in person for what you said."

"I spoke the truth." Hermione lifted her foot, pressing the sole of her sandal against the stone. "Besides, you've thanked me enough by making my tea each morning since. _I_ should probably thank _you_. It's one less thing I have to do each morning." She touched her flower crown to make sure it was secure, peering over at the wizard. "How do you know the different ways I take my tea?"

"It's not hard, Granger. I'm observant."

"So, you watch me." Not a question, merely a fact.

"Like I've said—" Malfoy took a deep breath and looked at her again. The softness provided by the sunset shifted, casting part of his face in shadow. "I'm observant of all things in my line of sight. Not just you." His chuckle was meant to ease the tension, but it served to do the exact opposite. "How arrogant of you."

"I suppose I am." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Or perhaps my statement was a mere observation."

"You _do_ love those."

"I do." She surprised herself by smiling lightly, looking down to catch a glimpse of the grass.

"And what do you observe _now_?"

Hermione took in his attire, far too rigid for the party but casual for him. Malfoy had even unfastened the top two buttons of his dress shirt between his exit from Parvati's clutches and now. She returned her attention to the splendor of the last vestiges of light. "I'm just enjoying the sunset. Nothing more."

"I find that hard to believe."

Ignoring that low rumble of his voice, she shut her eyes and allowed herself to feel the warmth on the side of her face. "Contrary to your opinion, I _do_ know how to relax."

"Funny, my mother says otherwise."

Hermione rolled her eyes open. "I'm certain your mother says a lot about me."

"You would be correct." Malfoy's lilt of humour played off the slight smirk on his face. "I'm not certain what you said to her earlier, but she was in quite a mood."

"She pushed and pushed until she got what she wanted: my complete opinion. Simple as that."

But not really and they both knew it.

"And here I was thinking she had learned all about your _opinions_ and would stop challenging you. It's like she's a glutton for punishment."

"What does that mean?" She folded her arms across her chest, fully prepared to defend herself.

As always.

"Nothing." Malfoy returned to the sun, but Hermione's attention remained on him. The smirk that graced his lips had all but vanished, yet remnants of it remained. "My mother rants about you endlessly around others, though not as much as of late. At least not until today."

She snorted inelegantly.

"I haven't seen her in such a state since you—what did you say again?" He chuckled. "Ah yes. _I won't fake it or play a role just to appeal to or please a man._ My mother ranted about the decline of proper, _traditional_ witches for weeks."

"It wasn't my best moment." Embarrassed, Hermione looked away, tucking her hair behind her ear in a fruitless act. Her ankle had temporarily paid for her pride.

Malfoy didn't agree or disagree.

He unclasped his hands from behind him and slowly rolled his shoulders.

"Did you brew the inhibition potion by following the directions in a book?"

Hermione had not expected the change of subject. "Yes."

"Pity."

"It's brewed correctly, that's all that matters."

"Once again, _Granger_." There was that biting timbre of his. His voice crawled up Hermione's spine and settled in the crevices of her mind. "Just because a potion is done correctly, doesn't mean that you've brewed it to its best quality."

"I remember this argument." Hermione pushed herself off the stone. Though she didn't want to have this disagreement again, she couldn't help but notice the subtle differences between the first time they had and now. "My opinion on experimentation might have changed, but tonight, for the sake of discussion, I'll bite. I haven't heard any complaints about my potion. Do you not feel anything?"

"I feel relaxed, a bit loose-tongued." Because the potion lowered his reservations, Malfoy's answer sounded honest. "Different, but not horribly so. Granger, you've clearly brewed the potion correctly according to the potions book. However, if brewed to its full potential, I wouldn't feel _any_ different… I'd just be at ease. I wouldn't be able to keenly point out when my words are being affected by the potion. Like now."

"Not everyone has as many reservations as you."

"That's for the best, I think. Don't you?" Another probing look that made Hermione shift her weight. "I'm just as much as the bastard I was in school. Believe me."

"In ways, I suppose that's still true." Hermione shrugged. "But also not."

"You think after a few conversations and debates you know me so well, but I guarantee you don't."

"I can guarantee that, too, but it's not for lack of trying." _That_ was too honest of a statement for her liking. Hermione internally scowled, but allowed her eyes to trail down the sleeve of his shirt that covered his secrets. "You're a hard man to figure out."

From the way he flinched, she could tell his next words were ones he wouldn't speak in any normal conversation. "I'm not _that_ difficult."

Hermione barked out a laugh. "I don't believe that for a—"

"I _am_ , however, particular about who and what I spend my time and energy on." More of that reluctant honesty was on display, much to their mutual discomfort. "I prefer quality not quantity, and I won't entertain anything that's not real."

There were layers in his words, deep ones that reached the very core of his character. While fascinating to hear, they would be even better to think about when she had the energy to pick their conversation apart like she had each one before. But, for now, the setting sun had sunk three-quarters of the way beneath the horizon, taking some of the reds and oranges with it, but leaving behind the lighter hues.

Last Light was coming.

"Weasley wanted me to inform you that the next meeting is in one week." Grey eyes slid to hers then back. "That is, if you haven't changed your mind about stepping out of the shadows."

"I haven't."

"After all this time, why now?" His question requested—no, _demanded—_ an answer.

"I meant _every_ word I said in the Wizengamot chambers. _That's_ the only reason you need to know." The look she gave Malfoy took her back to when she'd made a request of him, one that asked for something he never gave until that moment. "But what happened to working around the corruption in order to suit your own needs? You argued with me yet you've been fighting it all along."

"I meant what I said that day, but…" Malfoy trailed off, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought the potion's hold on his reservations.

He shut his eyes. One second passed. Then another. Then thirty. Malfoy opened his eyes.

"You shouldn't fight it so hard." Hermione's voice was low, private—words spoken just for him. "But I suppose that's all you know." _Fighting and pain, loneliness and duty._ She shoved the thought back into the recesses of her mind, and like Malfoy had done before, Hermione changed the subject, latching onto a passing thought. "Scorpius would like this. He likes the sun. I had lunch with him outside today."

" _I know._ " There was weight in those two words that spoke yet again to the small scope of her overall knowledge regarding the ins and outs of what happened all around her. Malfoy looked down, then over. "He wasn't upset by your presence?"

Hermione never had an expected trajectory for their conversations, and today was no exception. But deep down, she knew why Malfoy was asking. She knew what he was searching for. A solution. Hermione wondered if she wasn't the _only one_ who had witnessed Scorpius sneaking glimpses each day.

"He's…" She noticed Malfoy's eyes were heavy, searching. He _wanted_ to know what she was going to say about his son. "Scorpius is…"

_Kind. Headstrong. Inquisitive. Intelligent. Compassionate._

_Scorpius was a deep well of emotions that were starting to want out, the sort of child that kept his father's notes as close as his father kept the sentiments he felt on his arm—both for the same reason._

Those were the things Hermione wanted to say, but she landed on something she didn't expect. Maybe it was potions-induced, maybe it was the warmth of the air, or the heat of the dying sun that relaxed her, but her response was the very last thing that came to mind.

"He's not what I expected, but neither are you."

Malfoy cleared his throat and turned back to the picturesque sky before them. He stayed like that, but she could see the wheels turning as he seemed to extrapolate the bits of their conversation he would tuck away in his memory for later analysis, too.

Despite his claims of simplicity, he was still too complex for Hermione to comprehend. Every action always called to mind more questions, especially about the distance he kept from everyone and everything. Because when she put together the clues, the subtleties, and the heavy emotions she had read to Scorpius in a short note…

Well, distance seemed to be the _last_ thing he wanted.

_So why keep it?_

Hermione didn't know. Honestly, she might never know, but she figured it would be best to leave him to his thoughts.

Last Light was rapidly approaching and she needed to find her friends before the fireworks started. It was a good plan. A solid plan. Maybe if the potion wore off it would ease the juxtaposition of feelings that had settled in her gut.

She certainly hoped so.

If Hermione had to place responsibility on _something_ for her next action, she would blame everything except herself. Simple as that. It was a habit, based on an entire evening of completing the same action after every interaction. Whatever it was, Hermione moved without thinking, stepping next to Malfoy and using his arm for support as she lifted on the tips of her toes to wish him a Happy Solstice with an air kiss…

But it turned into something else.

An unfamiliar set of lips pressed clumsily against hers when Malfoy turned his head.

Hermione retreated from the contact, an apology hanging off her next breath, but his eyes stopped her. Not the colour or closeness, but the fact that there was no ice.

Only fire.

 _Heat_.

And it was spreading unchecked.

Dulled defences made Malfoy's eyes soft around the typically hard edges as he searched her face. Those coarse lines Hermione had seen every day were still there, just smoother.

A sign of erosion.

What he discovered in her gaze, Hermione wasn't sure, but he leaned in with a hesitancy that seemed to guide each of his movements in a series of forward pauses until he was just a breath away.

His hands cupped her face, lips ghosting hers once.

Twice.

Hermione parted hers in a second attempt at an apology, unconsciously lifting her chin just as Malfoy exhaled and kissed her fully. The action exposed an undercurrent of rigidity, caused by unfamiliarity and uncertainty, and then his resolve was evident.

Air rushed from Hermione's lungs, her body rigid. She _knew_ what she needed to do: push him away in a firm rejection that left no question. But for reasons Hermione didn't want to pinpoint, she did no such thing.

She let Malfoy explore with a series of slow, closed-mouth kisses. It felt like a warm-up to the main event, one that promised to be electric. Thrilling. _Dangerous_.

The reason Hermione opened herself to the experience was selfish.

 _She_ wanted to explore _him_.

Just as thoroughly. Just as completely. Without the responsibility that came with such an act. Without the weight of the consequences that came with such a person.

It took a breath, but Hermione drafted excuses, laid them bare, and…

It was natural to fall into him, into the rhythm of his creation.

Malfoy's lips were warm and firm, and it was all too easy to kiss him, to _keep_ kissing him, to grip his shirt and ground herself before she floated into the stratosphere. Hermione shut her eyes and explored him, all while cataloguing each and every sensation.

The ferocious pounding in her head. The fluttering in her stomach that she couldn't associate with nerves. Only excitement.

It was human nature to seek connection, knowledge, and meaning through an avenue as primal as touch, and in that moment, it was okay to stop denying that she was _hungry_ for it.

Starving to be seen.

 _Ravenous_ for a belonging that was all hers.

Proof that she wasn't alone.

To feel something. _Anything_.

Her feelings were natural as she—after a few mishaps with noses and angles—began working Malfoy's mouth open with hers, feeling each new sensation as they rolled in, one right after another like the tide. An electric tingle ran through her veins when she moved a hand to Malfoy's chest, right over his heart, and felt the way it thumped against her palm.

His pulse pounded, just like hers.

It was sheer insanity. The potions. The silence. The atmosphere. The charge from their conversation. The setting sun and its energy.

It was the faint smell of ash from the bonfire in the air around them.

Or perhaps it was a combination of nothing and everything that created the need for her to squirm and struggle against the rising emotions in her chest.

The hard clench of her belly. The _want_.

The beat of her heart, the pulse in her veins, the breath in her lungs.

It all reminded her, chanting over and over and _over_ again, that this was _Malfoy_ kissing her. _Malfoy_ touching her. _Malfoy_ with whom she had fallen into a rhythm of lips and hands, a delicious push and pull, a sharp rise and a steep fall. _Malfoy_ that had her heart lodged in her throat, had her hands shaking from the stress and strain of angling her head just so.

But it was also _Malfoy_ that blindly walked them backwards, still holding on, kissing her thoroughly, not breaking the tenuous new connection. Not even when his legs hit the back of the stone bench Hermione had all but forgotten about. He sat and pulled her between his open legs, angling his head up, tilting hers down…

And yes.

 _Yes_.

This could be it.

Aside from talking and arguing, breathing and sighing, kissing each other may have been what their mouths were made for.

But that wasn't right… because this meant nothing. It _couldn't._

"Am I too heavy?" Hermione whispered when he shifted her on his lap for the third time.

Calculating eyes were focused on her in that intense way that made her unsteady, like she might sway on her feet if not for him beneath her. Malfoy never answered; he swallowed her question with a kiss so shockingly uncertain it _hurt_. But it was easy to use that hesitancy to assert herself, to guide him into kissing her exactly the way she wanted, showing him what she liked, letting him unlock her— _just this once._

It was abnormally selfish the way Hermione took and took without giving much in return.

Why did he let her? Why didn't he push for more?

Malfoy was restrained. Contained. Constricted. Tense. He always was, so why did she keep hoping for something different?

_Why did she want more?_

She knew better than to tickle a sleeping dragon, but Hermione did anyway.

"I won't break, Draco." Her harsh, throaty whisper sounded unfamiliar to her own ears; it made heat course through her veins and pool low in her belly. It was honesty, both from her own words and the permission she granted with them, that sparked the flames.

 _And they spread_.

When Malfoy's eyes sharpened, his grip tightened, and his hand left its respectable place on her thigh to slide low on her hip, _that_ was when Hermione realised that she might have a containment issue.

The fire was stronger.

Unavoidable.

Undeniable.

Careful kisses morphed into something achingly deep and hungry. It ravaged her, drawing and pulling as Malfoy allowed himself to take what he hadn't thought he could. But, just for now, she didn't fight it. Or him. And Malfoy received the message because his hesitation continued to shed with every passing second, every soft breath she took, and her own melted away as the delicious warmth burned hotter.

It was _good_. The tingling of his hands, holding her in place like an anchor. _So good_. The way he nipped her at her lower lip and pulled, none too gently, enough to make her jolt. _Too good_. A perfect pressure that accompanied his tongue, which slipped in unchecked and brushed against hers.

Alarm bells sounded as Hermione let herself burn.

_Touching more of him. Feeling him. Connecting with him._

Listening to the deep noises he made as their lips and tongues touched and retreated before crashing against each other once more. Like an irresistible force that had met an immovable object. And sure, Hermione had instigated it, pushed him, woke him, but now it was _Malfoy_ that changed everything from _too good_ to _devastating_.

From a spark to a blaze that was now burning unchecked. This was a problem, but an errant thought passed through her mind.

Let go. Stop thinking. _It's nothing._

Hermione knew she shouldn't listen. She knew that she should continue analysing each moment as it passed because doing so kept her from sinking too deep, but she was curious. Of course she was. It was natural to wonder about something she hadn't _truly_ done, about something that didn't fit into the boxes of definable reason in her world.

Malfoy didn't fit.

Neither did her unexplored intrigue with him.

Perhaps this was the chosen language for the translation of her curiosity. A language of touch and sensation, which teased the coils of connection and pleasure—communication at the depths of their souls. But there was no analysis needed in communication, just words and expressions, feelings, and touch. Instinct without thought…

_Let go._

_Just this once._

Hermione both relaxed _and_ surged up against him, crooking both arms around his neck, and it made something in Malfoy shift. He pulled back and watched her, stormy eyes nearly black, cheeks flushed with colour. Hermione's vision blurred along the edges as she succumbed to what she wanted.

 _More_.

 _Everything_.

Malfoy exhaled shakily into her mouth, each kiss more insistent than the last. All teeth and tongue and so much more of what she _wanted_. What she found. It was passion, a growing fire; a feeling of emotional exposure neither of them were prone to expressing in their daily life. But Hermione held him just as tight as he began pushing into places he'd not yet explored, with a tentative ease he shouldn't possess.

_It was fascinating how someone so outwardly cold could feel so warm._

Hermione abandoned the errant thought in favour of focusing on his trembling hands as they squeezed her, gripping her with a roughness that spoke of his slipping control.

It was okay. Of course, it was. _She wanted it_.

_All of it._

And when it came together in a stunning way, when his hand slipped between her thighs ever so briefly, the shock of it made Hermione moan his name, clench her thighs, and breathe in the smoke of him like she _needed_ it.

Like he wasn't killing her.

But it was the cheers of Last Light that doused their flames, cheers that accompanied the effects of the potion bleeding from her veins. Malfoy felt it too and stiffened against her as they woke from a fever dream at the same time.

They parted for a final time and, to Hermione's surprise, Malfoy didn't immediately push her off, nor did he let her go. To be fair, she hadn't either, not trusting the frazzled connections between her brain and heart and limbs to give her the strength to stand on her own.

It was awkward when they did separate, looking everywhere except at each other as they fixed the wrinkles in their clothes. Hermione fanned the heat from her face like it was really going to make a difference. It did not.

She finally chanced a glance at Malfoy and found him back to normal, save the flush he'd taken on, his hair he'd unsuccessfully tried to fix, and the almost jittery energy he emitted.

"Can we—"

"Forget about it?" Hermione shifted from foot to foot in an attempt to expend the overflow of her energy. "Of course we can. It makes sense." She fixed her crooked flower crown awkwardly, feeling more and more self-conscious under his heavy gaze, words spilling out of their own accord. "I know you're _not_ —well, _never mind._ It's fine. It was nothing."

Malfoy's flinch was nearly imperceptible, but she caught the ghost of a flex along his jaw, his shoulders. She had no idea how to process that. Or anything else for the matter.

 _Shite_. Where was everyone?

"Anyway, Happy Solstice, Malfoy. Sorry about all… _that_."

With an odd ache in her chest, Hermione left the way she'd come, but indecision weighed heavier on her mind with each retreating step. When she turned to face it, Malfoy was already gone.

Then the fireworks started.

 _All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.  
_ _**Edgar Allan Poe** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers are the same
> 
> A/N: Happy Friday! First things first, phew! Been waiting for this for ages. So much to unpack and process. Second thing, because I'm still recovering from COVID, I'm going to do bi-weekly give myself time to fully recover (because that process has been slow, sigh) and make up for the distance I lost posting while in the thick of illness. So next post will be 2/12 and the following one will be 2/26. In the meantime, check out my tumblr inadaze22 if you have questions or want to flail in asks. Measureart tag shows all the beautiful artwork that's been done for this story already by Jax and Chestercompany. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter! The ride continues.
> 
> inadaze22


	17. Shades of Grey

**  
Seventeen  
** _Shades of Grey_

_**June 24, 2011** _

  
Keeping secrets required constant vigilance and deception, the ability to suppress all thoughts and prevent accidents. Hermione learned after years in the Ministry and being Harry's friend that the problem with keeping secrets wasn't _hiding_ something, it was that she had to live with it and think about it every day.

Catherine was no secret keeper.

She was, in fact, the mole feeding Malfoy information about Hermione's interactions with Scorpius.

Which was fine.

Hermione had nothing to hide.

But it was something to keep in the pocket of her memory during their conversations. She had no idea how in depth Catherine's reports were, though she _was_ curious to find out, but that was a conversation for another day because right now, there was something going on.

The _instant_ Catherine entered the room, Hermione knew _she_ had a secret.

A big one.

She was so _excited_ she could barely contain herself. If Catherine smiled any wider her face might crack. The combination of her energy and grin struck Hermione as odd; she had never gotten the impression that Catherine, despite her age and talkative tendencies, was an excitable person.

Hermione wasn't the only one puzzled either.

Scorpius stared at his nanny with narrowed suspicion that would have been humourous had he not appeared wary and anxious as well. He wasn't the sort that handled vast changes in—well _anything_. His nervousness took form in his hand grasping the ends of her cardigan. It made her ache. Scorpius' world had been altered too much, too quick, with little conversation or warning. How was he to know what was expected of him if the behaviours of those constantly around him kept changing?

Hermione felt anxious at the mere thought, but that was Scorpius' reality.

Momentarily, she distracted his rising panic by nudging the cactus into his line of sight; the same plant Narcissa had been glaring at all week during shared meals. Her opinions about the cactus could likely fill _tomes_ , but to Hermione's infinite surprise, the Malfoy Matriarch had not said anything about their succulent guest outside of the occasional scowl or dignified eye roll.

Still, the cactus diversion worked.

Scorpius focused on _it_ instead of the erratic, exuberant energy emanating from his nanny. With her eyes, Hermione tried to signal for her to stop grinning so hard, but Catherine didn't seem to understand. She held that crazed look until Narcissa—after finishing breakfast, potions, and diagnostic testing—left with Sachs and security for a day of schmoozing with other society matrons and their eligible daughters. Even after she was gone, Catherine still waited another full minute to speak, eagerly watching the doorway.

Just in case.

Hermione barely paid her any mind, too busy observing Scorpius, who appeared more relaxed now that he was focusing on his prickly new friend. He then eyed his scrambled eggs with cheese and spinach with suspicion. She was attempting an experiment to test what he _would_ willingly eat. Hermione had made the combination for herself, and at the time, Scorpius had seemed intrigued, but now that it was on his plate, she wondered if his interest had been exclusively due to it being _hers_.

When he began to reach for his toast, covered in blueberry jam, then pulled back, she pointedly cleared her throat, which made him pause and sheepishly ducked his head, taking his first reluctant bite.

They had an agreement.

After yesterday's hiding episode—when not even _Hermione_ could find him—they agreed to no hiding _and_ breakfast. The cactus had been a last-minute addition. His reward? A second lunch outside with food that didn't require table manners.

And when his eyes widened at the first bite of the mix, it became all too obvious that he had won the better end of the deal.

She didn't mind.

It wasn't about winning or losing; it was about _him_.

Fondness swelled in Hermione as she watched Scorpius enjoy his breakfast. Catherine excused herself but Hermione barely noticed her exit. A bit of jam dribbled down his chin, landing on the napkin they both wore to protect their shirts—something Scorpius insisted on, despite Narcissa's argument about it not being proper. Hermione Vanished the stain. He signed his appreciation with a sign they had both learned on Monday, tapping his chin while wearing the barest hint of a secret smile.

"Okay!" Catherine returned to her seat. "Narcissa's gone and I have _so_ much to tell you."

Despite her personal irritation with the young witch and the questions forming in her mind, insatiable curiosity would always be Hermione's vice. She gestured for the witch to continue. "What is it?"

"Narcissa called an early morning meeting to inform us of the adjustments we are to make to Scorpius' schedule."

The subject of the conversation froze, looking to Hermione with wide eyes. Not that it mattered, she was already indignant on his behalf. She nearly cast a Muffliato to privately voice her irritation with the fact that _everyone_ —especially Catherine—talked about Scorpius like he wasn't there. Like he wasn't absorbing every little thing like a sponge. Like he couldn't understand.

But he damn well _could_. In fact, he understood some things better than the adults.

"Sorry." Catherine had clearly noticed her shifting mood. "It's a good change that he needs to know." She gave a leery Scorpius a soft smile meant to make him feel better, but he only looked more distrustful.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Narcissa gave us the liberty to stagger his schedule. We'll be alternating subjects every other day."

Well, that was a surprise. Hermione barely maintained control of her jaw.

Catherine was almost giddy with excitement. "It's to allow him an hour and a half of free time in the morning, which will include lunch, and half an hour in the afternoon."

Hermione's heart fluttered at the prospect, but like Scorpius, she was highly suspicious. This was obviously Narcissa's response to their argument, but she had no idea if the witch was being genuine or simply felt guilty.

Honestly, though, did it matter?

No.

Either way the end results would benefit Scorpius…

He was mid-chew on his eggs, cheeks puffed, blinking slowly as if he were trying to decode a cypher.

"Mind your manners, Scorpius."

For her comment, Catherine received a blank look from her charge and a fierce look from Hermione that either she didn't register or chose to ignore.

"When Mrs Malfoy told me, I went and bought as many toys as I could think of to entertain him for his break today."

"Ah?" Hermione drifted back to a conversation with Theo that involved a children's dictionary.

"Yes, we're going to have so much _fun_!" There was an energy about her that was endearing… and completely _lost_ on Scorpius, judging by the way his eyes once again awkwardly cut from his nanny to Hermione.

He didn't need to sign for her to see that he was asking for help.

"I would take it slow, perhaps?" It wasn't a suggestion as it was abjectly steering Catherine from her original plan, but her grin was still present, and it was clear she was already planning all manner of activities for him. "Or maybe just let him draw pictures to Albus." Her smile didn't fade and Hermione's finite patience was reaching its natural end. "Perhaps _one_ toy. You don't want to overwhelm him."

"That sounds quite dull." Catherine waved her off dismissively. "He's a _child_ , Miss Granger. I've never met one that only played with one thing."

Scorpius tapped Hermione on the arm to show her that he'd finished his food.

"Nicely done. I'll take your plate."

He would walk it over to the sink if she didn't tell him otherwise.

He removed the napkin from his neck, folding it neatly before offering it to her. Hermione used it to clean the bit of jelly that had accumulated on the corner of his mouth. He didn't mind, just sat there patiently with his head tilted up until she finished.

"There you go." Hermione absently swept back a bit of fringe that had fallen on his forehead. "Are you ready for today?"

Whatever good mood he had been in instantly vanished when the little boy sombrely nodded, which didn't exactly inspire confidence that he wouldn't sneak off to the cupboard the first chance he got. But it would have to do.

"Remember our deal?"

Scorpius signed _yes_.

Only four lessons in and the amount of single words he'd retained was amazing.

Before Hermione could respond, Catherine spoke up, sounding animated in a way that would appeal to most children. "We're going to have a great day, right Scorpius?" He blinked. "We're going to learn about history, art, and maths before you get to play." Expressive blue eyes shot over to her, mouth forming an _O_ shape while his nanny continued on, missing all his uneasy cues. "That's right, you get to _play_ today. Are you excited?"

Like dark clouds rolling in from the west, Scorpius' glazed look of utter confusion seemed ominous…

Knowing all she did, all Hermione could muster was something akin to… cautious optimism—at best.

At worst? She hoped it wouldn't get there.

* * *

Experimentation began with motivation.

A need to solve a problem.

Most would say that it began with a hypothesis, but Hermione felt it was currently too soon for prediction. To her, experimentation truly began with a detailed understanding of one's material, a gathering of relevant knowledge so she could perform a full review to organise and condense it into something easily digestible.

_Symptoms and causes. Diagnoses and suggested treatments—both magical and Muggle. Recommended potions and the list of ingredients in each._

She included a drafted summary of the last three months of Narcissa's progress along with results of diagnostic charms and copies of her brain scans spanning from diagnosis to the most recent. Everything was arranged and copied for Roger.

For his case study of Narcissa.

The only thing Hermione left out was the theoretical analysis: her research into building a potion and notes regarding the magic involved in the process. That combined with the information from Charles' failures might one day lead to a success.

She had tested a few options and failed, but she was learning the art of creating a brew.

Roger reviewed everything while drinking coffee. "The patient's brain scans don't show much change from diagnosis to now."

Something that surprised Hermione as well, given the rough road thus far.

"This is good." He took another sip of his coffee, never letting his eyes wander from the notes in front of him. "What have you been doing?"

"Potions. It's a blend already used to treat patients with her form of dementia by American Healers, but I've tweaked hers to account for several other factors, including weight. Furthermore, I make certain she engages in physical activity. I've monitored her diet, mental stimulation, stress levels, among other things. It's all there in my report."

"Snape assigned shorter essays than this." He chuckled in amusement. "It will take a while to read."

"I wanted to be thorough." Hermione shrugged, but she could still feel her cheeks warm with the stain of awkwardness that came with overachievement

"I appreciate that." Roger finally set the parchments down and met her anxious gaze. "Which is why I have no qualms in asking if you've changed your mind about the Head Researcher position."

"No, I haven't."

"Very well." He sighed. "There will always be a position for you. All you have to do is ask."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"These are the candidates we have in mind to recruit for the position and I'd like your opinion, at the very least." Roger pulled out his desk drawer and retrieved a parchment for her to review. "I believe some of the names are familiar to you as you've likely been in contact with them. I'd like your opinion."

Hermione leisurely skimmed each candidate's credentials, rejecting one after another until her eyes fell on a familiar name.

"Charles Smith would be a good fit. He's incredibly knowledgeable and helped me immensely when I began working with Narcissa. We're still in communication." Pulling the profile from the stack, she brought it to the front before handing it back. "As far as the rest? No."

"Thank you."

Hermione left Roger's office thirty minutes later and stopped by Theo's to drop off the loose tea leaves she'd wrapped up for him earlier that day. Her timing was impeccable. He wasn't in meetings with the board or with the Security Team and Ward Specialists about the breaches that had been happening. _Two_ in the last month. An escalation from the occasional. The moment Theo saw her in his doorway, he seemed to relax, relieved to escape the parchment piled on his desk.

They sat on the sofa after, indulging in the toffees he kept in his desk.

The ease between them didn't last long, a sign that Theo was eager to speak. _A first_.

He reached into the pocket of his shirt, retrieving a letter. "Sent to you for Scorpius. It's clean."

Albus' voice letter. Another one of her ideas, in addition to their enchanted parchment, to foster communication between the boys. Scorpius had been enjoying the picture exchange the last few days, and the letter would be a welcome surprise for lunch.

"Good. Thank you." Hermione deposited the letter into her bag. She pulled out an envelope for him, which made Theo arch an eyebrow. "Scorpius wanted to send Albus pictures of the cactus he keeps drawing so I took some for him."

Fond amusement tickled his features when he accepted her letter with a soft shake of his head.

She smiled. "He picked which pictures to send himself."

"I'll send it off straight away." Theo took extra care as he placed the envelope on the table. "How is he? Narcissa has been quiet during tea with Pansy and I for the last few weeks."

Not a surprise, but Hermione wisely kept that to herself.

"I'm teaching him sign language." She crossed her legs at the knees. "He needs to be able to communicate in _some_ form. Narcissa—"

"She may not consider it a normal way to communicate, but _I_ think it's a good idea." Theo offered her another piece of toffee.

Untwisting the wrapper, she paused before fully unwrapping the treat. "I have moments when I feel I'm overstepping, but—"

"She _knows_."

Which meant that if Narcissa _truly_ wanted to stop it or _her_ , she would. It begged the question of why she hadn't. Narcissa did very little without reason.

"Has he signed in front of her?" Theo's voice was tinged with concern.

"He knows he can't." Hermione had not told him that, though; Scorpius just _knew_. It begged the question of _how_ Narcissa had found out in the first place. She briefly wondered if Catherine had told her.

Not _entirely_ improbable.

She _definitely_ needed to curb her words around the witch.

"How much have you taught him?"

"It's only been a couple of days, but I've shown him functional signs, and he's mastered those quickly. I only have to show him a couple of times, tell him what they mean, and he remembers. I've been working on more conversational signs to teach him. I'm looking up classes that I can take to improve, too. I don't want to teach him incorrectly and while the book is a good start, it's not enough."

"I never thought I would hear _Hermione Granger_ say that a book wasn't enough." Theo looked vastly amused, and when she glared at him, his smirk morphed into a full smile. "Seems like life at the Malfoys' isn't the only thing that's changing."

Cryptic words that lacked his normal subtext and meant two things: Theo _somehow_ already knew about Narcissa's schedule adjustments _and_ he wanted to talk to her. Rather than inquire about how he knew, she decided to take a different avenue.

"Oh?" She retwisted the wrapper and placed the candy in her bag. Their conversation was at its true beginning. "What sort of changes?"

"Don't act like you aren't the reason Narcissa was up in arms earlier this week." His look was disparaging. "You're too smart to play dumb."

That almost sounded like a compliment.

"I've never liked your word games, Theo."

"I think you'll find I play few games when it comes to that family." The combination of his tone, statement, and presence heightened her awareness in the silence that followed. "I feel you and I are allies on that front."

"To an extent, yes." Hermione folded her arms, leaned back on the cushion, and looked at him. "I meant every word I said to Narcissa. I'm not accepting _any_ opinions on my comments to her _today_ or in the future."

"And _I_ won't disagree with what you said."

Hermione was caught off guard. Her pulse thumped in preparation for a battle she did not want to fight, but one she would _if_ she had to. "If you're here to discuss my professionalism, I'll have you know that I tried to hold my tongue, but she kept _pushing_."

"That she does, and _no_ I'm not. I trust you."

A great compliment coming from Theo. It did its intended job, untwisting the forming knot in her stomach and quelling her racing heart. He fell silent, appearing to organise his own thoughts in order to display them how _he_ wanted _her_ to see them. Apparently it took an entire piece of toffee to get it just right.

"Pansy and I have had this _discussion_ several times in the past regarding Scorpius' schedule and how hard she is on him." Theo pursed his lips. "Our opinions are similar to yours on both matters."

 _Discussion_ sounded a lot like _argument_.

It felt nice not to be alone on that front.

"But it seems you've gotten her to bend." The corners of Theo's mouth twitched before he looked away. "I'm impressed, but I still want to talk about what you said."

"Theo…" That feeling was returning ever so slowly. She clenched her fist. "I'm—"

"The reason I feel we need to have this discussion is _mostly_ due to your lack of knowledge surrounding pureblood customs."

"If another person says that, I'm going to start—"

"Though you don't appear to _care_." Theo made several calming gestures with his hands when he saw her mouth open to let the fire in her out. "Hear me out. They seem archaic to you and, in many ways, they are, but that's how we were raised. My mother died when I was young and I was raised by my governess. I never saw much of my father until I was around seven or eight, which is normal in all the ways you believe it's not."

"Would you do the same if you were in your father's position?"

"No, but I'm a different man." There was an undercurrent of emotion coming from the man who was usually smooth on the surface, but it only lasted a split second. "I understand where to draw the line between following tradition and creating my own, but others are still learning. Right or wrong by any standards, our customs are ingrained into the core of who we are as _people_. When you strive to become a different person, it's incredibly difficult to rip yourself from the past. The act is like separating pieces of yourself. It leaves you fractured and incomplete, but with new room to grow."

Theo gave her a meaningful glance before standing to summon two teacups and the kettle from his desk. All three items landed on the coffee table with ease. He made tea for the: licorice root tea. She tasted hers and frowned because it didn't have enough honey. And no lemon. Tolerable, but not to her preference.

"I understand what you're saying, _however_ —"

"No one is perfect, Hermione. Sometimes pieces are left behind, things get missed, and humans are often stubborn… as you know."

Her mind went right where he wanted it to go—Narcissa Malfoy—and she shook her head.

"We're going to make mistakes and choices that others won't like." His expression remained as steady as his voice. "But understand that we're doing what we feel is right, which is _always_ a matter of opinion."

"True."

"People don't change because they want to. They change once they recognise—logically, socially, and or emotionally—that they _need_ to." He reached for his tea and took a sip before placing it back on the table. "Change is a gruelling process. It requires doggedness and deep commitment. It's also a slow process, not a sprint, and you'll want to cling to some semblance of normality just to feel like yourself."

Hermione, who was sipping her own tea and thinking about his every word, watched Theo turn towards her.

"What you need to understand is that while some of us are further along than others, there are a few who have made an entire _lifetime_ of changes in a few years." Theo tapped a patient finger on the arm of the sofa. "I'm not saying to excuse anything, but don't negate the changes they _have_ made because they're not where _you_ expect them to be yet."

He wasn't entirely wrong. She could admit that perhaps she hadn't been completely fair to Narcissa, failing to factor in the large strides she _had_ made. The way she watched without speaking, gave liberties with Scorpius, and listened to Hermione's opinion without completely dismissing her. And if Hermione wanted to, she could go backwards. To the beginning. To the truth that Narcissa had never _once_ treated Hermione like the slur she had raised her son to call people like her.

When considered, Hermione internally grumbled before sighing heavily. "I do understand. I just don't know how you can stand by and watch."

"I do what I can," Theo admitted. "I'm not as well-versed in children and wasn't around much, so Scorpius hasn't taken to me as well as he seems to have taken to you." Theo sounded as disappointed as he looked. "It's not like I haven't tried."

"Scorpius struggles to connect. Not just with his father, but with all the people in his life. He wants to, _so badly_ , but he's anxious and afraid to do the wrong thing. Maybe this is because of Narcissa's firm hand or another way his grief has presented itself. I can't say for certain. Drawing with Albus helps, sign language helps, but—"

"He's connected to _you_."

"I want to see him grow and he can't do that without nurturing, affection, and a sense of security." Hermione finished her tea quickly. "I'm trying to build his confidence and I have _been_ trying to give him the foundation he needs. He's drawing, we're signing, he's making choices. I bring my cactus over because it seems to help ground him, and Narcissa's now allowing him two breaks a day. I've been working on him coming out from around the corner to greet his father in the morning, but it doesn't help that Malfoy has been so busy that he hasn't been around outside of leaving Scorpius' note and my tea."

"Draco leaves you tea?" Theo blinked twice. "Daily?"

Hermione suddenly felt like she was taking a test and choosing between two impossible answers, both of which were somehow wrong.

"He… _does_. Daily."

" _Interesting._ "

Hermione rolled her eyes at Theo's mysterious tone, and almost commented on it, but a thought passed in front of her.

A rogue one that had been running free for too long.

"How did you become Scorpius' godfather?" Hermione refilled her tea despite not liking it. She was parched. "I didn't know you and Malfoy were close in school."

"We weren't," Theo replied with a small shrug. "I have known Draco all my life, but I refused to be another one of his sycophants."

"And now?"

"I made a vow to look after both him and Scorpius."

That piqued Hermione's curiosity. "An Unbreakable?"

"No, but I'll never break it." Theo's words were fierce with determination.

The cogs in her mind started turning at a higher rate of speed while she filed the intensity of his response away.

"Who did you make it to?"

"Astoria."

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling as if she were standing on the edge of something too deep, but there she was, ready to take the plunge. It might seem like a small molehill to some, but to her it was a steep cliff above the deep unknown.

 _Astoria_.

In learning Scorpius, in watching him each day, Hermione found herself wanting to know more about her. The woman who shared his eyes and spirit. The woman who had _lived_ by sheer strength of will long enough to teach Scorpius compassion and empathy for everything—even a leaning cactus.

The woman whose absence was felt in every person around her.

In every place.

In every conceivable way.

Hermione inhaled her loss but exhaled her memory.

"How…" She had to carefully consider the best way to approach the delicate topic. "How was—"

"The gladiolus were a nice touch. Charmed to never die?" Theo glanced over at her, meeting her eyes. "I'll keep your secret."

"I didn't know her. It seemed like a good choice at the time."

"She _was_ strong despite being ill and frail. She had more compassion and integrity than anyone I had ever known. Such a rare thing. It was a fitting tribute."

The air between them felt heavy enough for tears to swell in Hermione's eyes. She blinked them back as best as she could, but they rolled down her cheeks anyway.

"For all the way he's Draco's son, down to his mannerisms and personality, there is just as much of Astoria in him."

"His kindness."

"No." Theo looked away and chuckled. "Hard to believe, but that's not _only_ from her."

His words lingered in the silence that hung over the room as Hermione's emotions began to recede. Eventually he resumed the conversation, steering it down another path. He asked if she knew why Pansy and Ginny wanted to use his Pensieve, but she had no idea. A quick glance at her watch made her jolt.

"I have to stop by Padma's." Hermione stood up. "We'll finish this conversation later."

"I'm certain we will."

Hermione rushed to tuck everything away for later. She gave the solemn man, who was staring ahead at the fireplace in front of him, one last look before leaving.

By the time Hermione arrived at her next stop, Padma was just finishing up with Group Therapy in a room full of new werewolves. On the walk back to Padma's office, Hermione finally asked a question she had been dying to know.

"The Aurors and Task Force members bitten in the raid, are they—?"

"All negative for Lycanthropy, but they'll eat their steaks rare."

It was a relief, of course, but it still made her insides quiver. Greyback had been out of control since his Azkaban breakout five years ago.

"Have you lost any wolves?"

"Two in the last three weeks." Padma sighed. "But none since May."

"That's _two_ more that are likely at his side."

"And a total of twelve in the years I've been doing this, but we have also had some defect from Greyback's side, which is promising." Padma tapped her wand against the door to her office. There was a faint click before it opened. "All I can do is try to provide them with a safe haven. I don't want to give them any reason to answer his call on the full moon. Laws have been passed to ensure their protection and humanity, but prejudices run deep. They make the Death Eaters' promise for change appealing."

"Greyback doesn't want change. He wants chaos and blood."

"Not just anyone's blood." Padma gave her a meaningful look. "According to the defectors, he wants _yours_."

A chill ran up her spine.

Hermione didn't need the reminder.

It was always there.

Padma led the way into her office and Hermione followed. The space was nice and inviting, scented with sandalwood and sage. Calming. As Padma put away her files, Hermione leaned against the side of her desk.

Padma cast her a glance. "I'm going to say something you'll hate."

"Wouldn't be the first time, but go on."

"I know you're not out much. I know you spent the last full moon at Pansy's. And I know you've got strong wards, but have you considered getting protection?"

"No. I can take care of myself."

"I _know."_ Padma frowned in disappointment. "But maybe you should let someone else _try_ for once. The things they've said he says about you are…" Padma shuddered.

The clock on her wall chimed twelve times. Hermione was late. Knowing that Padma wasn't finished with the topic, she promised to add it to her list of things she needed to consider.

"Where are you off to?"

"Lunch with Scorpius."

" _Malfoy_?" Padma's surprise was visible. "The little one?"

"Yes." Hermione paused. "Have you met him?"

"A few times. He doesn't take well to strangers. Or at least he didn't take well to _me_ , but I'm terrible with children."

But Padma, to her surprise, left it at that.

A handful of Floo powder later and she was back in the Malfoy's empty living room with a little more than half an hour to prepare lunch. Hermione wanted to provide him with a kid-friendly option, so she made him Al's staple: half of a regular hamburger _and_ a veggie burger to test her hunch. She also prepared celery and carrots she'd chopped up in small pieces so he could pick them up with his hands.

Per their agreement.

She made herself and Catherine a similar lunch, and when they didn't come down on time, Hermione frowned. Most days, she could set her watch to Scorpius' schedule. But that had changed. Gravitating toward the door that led out to the garden, Hermione glanced around and found exactly what she was looking for.

Hindsight was _definitely_ twenty-twenty.

An incredibly pale Scorpius sat in the grass, surrounded by tiny bubbles. Catherine appeared at her wit's end, steadily creating more soapy spheres with her wand while making excited noises to engage him.

It didn't appear to be working. Scorpius simply ignored her chaos, holding the cactus and looking _supremely_ unimpressed—with everything. Staring straight ahead, his eyes looked empty, fixed on nothing, but his tight grip on the potted plant gave her a spark of hope that he was still there.

Then Hermione noticed just how _hard_ Scorpius held the pot. Oh! He was _stressed_.

The bubbles weren't popping, just gathering on his face and clothes, which made him retreat further into apathy. One of the larger bubbles bumped the back of his head, and she witnessed his expression slip into irritation. Then back to blank.

Lined up next to his nanny were her other failures: a football, a bag of legos, and several magical toys.

Hermione took a deep breath before stepping out. She would need all the patience she could muster.

"Thank goodness you're here." Catherine's prior optimism was seemingly spent. "I don't know where I went wrong."

Hermione could think of a few moments, but she kept that to herself as she turned her attention to Scorpius. He hadn't even noticed her, but his frown deepened when bubbles began gathering on the cactus, making it appear slightly shiny. He took off his blazer to cover it. Protect it. In turn, he appeared to make himself more uncomfortable.

"You can start by Vanishing the bubbles." Hermione suggested evenly. "He obviously doesn't like them." _To put it mildly._

"I thought they would be fun. _All_ kids like bubbles."

Hermione gestured to the obvious exception. "Clearly not."

With an exasperated wave of her wand, the nanny Vanished the bubbles.

The little boy instantly looked around before uncovering the cactus and touching his face to make sure it was all gone.

"He doesn't play," she said. "I tried to provide activities that most kids his age would enjoy, but he's rejected everything."

"Did you let him draw with Albus?"

"We got a note back that Albus would be away until his afternoon break. He'll draw with him then. Meanwhile, I thought it would be a good idea to let him play with something else. But _nothing_ has worked. I was trying to give him as many activities as possible, but—"

"I'm no expert on children, but perhaps you should let _him_ choose." Hermione shut the door behind her, and Scorpius perked up.

"But—"

"I know you mean well, and you want him to enjoy normal playtime, but this is _his_ time. Scorpius should be the one who decides how to spend it. If he wants to sit in the middle of the grass with a cactus, then so be it."

"I thought I could help." Catherine sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I was trying—"

"Rushing him _isn't_ helping, it's just stressing him out." Hermione tried not to sound exasperated, but judging from the falling expression on the nanny's face, she failed. "It's fine. You tried and it didn't work. There's always tomorrow. And the next day. As long as you keep trying, you'll succeed one day. Eventually, the novelty of having his own time will wear off and he'll want something else to entertain him."

Catherine nodded with growing understanding.

"But right now, let him enjoy the simplicity of a moment that's all his." Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the little boy who was approaching with the leaning cactus in his hands. "Can you bring our plates out for lunch? I left them on the island."

Hermione watched Catherine go before turning to Scorpius. At her side, he presented the plant with extended arms and wide eyes.

As she had every day since Tuesday, she bowed her head a little and signed a greeting to the cactus. "Hello there." Then Scorpius. "And hello to you, too."

She could have _sworn_ she saw him mouth the word back.

As if struck by lightning, her heart jolted, but Hermione guarded herself, trying not to make too much of the moment lest she scare him into regression. But she was still buzzing from the proud moment as she guided him to the table.

Lunch was a quiet affair.

They sat at the small, outdoor table instead of in the grass because it started thundering. It would soon rain, and Scorpius was just as fond of inclement weather as he was of sitting in the sun. He calmly enjoyed his veggie burger, ignoring the hamburger after an initial sniff, confirming her suspicion that he didn't care too much for the smell of meat. Hermione ended up taking it off his plate when he kept giving it aggravated glares and moving his carrots and celery away from the bun.

They worked on sign language while Catherine excused herself to check in with the tutor. Today's lesson included family members. The conversation with Theo was still fresh in Hermione's mind so she skipped _Mother_ and taught him to sign the next word on the list.

" _Father._ "

Scorpius immediately rushed to the glass door, looking in, a sad frown appearing when he didn't see what he had been searching for. What he had been searching for every morning. He returned to the table, mood sour. The miscommunication hurt them both.

"No, this is how you _sign_ Father." She showed him again, feeling almost as heartbroken as he looked when he signed it back, sadness rising like the shifting tide.

Hermione ended the lesson and decided to hold Al's letter until Monday.

"How can I help?" She turned her chair and moved his so they were directly in front of each other.

Scorpius signed the new word again: _Father_.

And she understood. "He's been working a lot lately. I haven't seen him. I know you miss him."

He lifted a hand, but struggled to sign his response.

Eventually, though, he did.

_Yes._

Catherine returned.

It was time for lessons.

Scorpius got up without fuss, but instead of following his nanny back inside, he stood in front of Hermione and nervously looked down at his feet. Hermione held up a hand, asking Catherine to give them a few minutes. She nodded and ducked back into the house.

"What is it?"

He pressed his ear against his shoulder before pointing at the cactus. _Ah._ He wanted to take it with him.

"You can't take it to lessons because it will distract you from learning. We don't always like every rule, but we still have to follow them."

He expressed his understanding with a nod.

"I have to work, so I'll leave it until your break later and you can draw pictures of him for Albus."

Scorpius peered at her. He stood up straight, and grew more serious, more stiff. He started signing every word he'd learned, which made no sense. He was trying to communicate something even _she_ couldn't understand. Then, he stopped, lowering his head in frustration until Hermione tilted his chin up, fixing the hairs that had been blown out of place by the breeze during lunch.

He cast a solemn look at the prickly little cactus.

 _Lonely_.

Hermione almost cursed herself for not realising the reason behind his apprehension. Yes, he wanted to take it to lessons with him, but not because he needed the companionship.

 _He didn't want_ it _to be alone._

He knew what it was like.

"I'll take him with me to my office so he won't be lonely." Hermione smiled when Scorpius' eyes slowly brightened. "It's time for your afternoon lessons."

He didn't look entirely enthused about the prospect, but he'd come far from actively hiding.

"If I don't see you after you finish for the day, I'll be back on Monday. Same as before."

They had this conversation every week, and while the act would be tedious to some, Hermione understood that Scorpius was different from James, Lily, or even Albus. Teddy had been too young to know his parents, but Scorpius was not. He knew what it was like to have someone one day only for them to be gone the next—never to return. No matter how many times Hermione had promised to return, there was always a hint of surprise when she actually did. It _hurt_ because his actions would forever tell the story of a boy who had been damaged by his mother's death.

Only five and already jaded.

"Today is Friday."

Like each time before, Scorpius held up two fingers.

She touched the tip of one little finger. "Tomorrow is Saturday." And the other. "Sunday." She folded his fingers down gently, holding his hand. "After Sunday is Monday, and I'll be here then."

Another slow bob of his blond head, but instead of heading back inside, Scorpius watched her, seeming to weigh his next actions. Hermione flashed a fond smile, and maybe that made up his mind.

He leaned against her side for several moments, taking a deep breath.

It wasn't a hug.

Just him stealing a moment of comfort, warmth, and support before it was time to go.

Scorpius didn't sign it, but Hermione knew what he meant.

_Thank you._

* * *

_**June 25, 2011** _

  
Hermione used to feel a sense of accomplishment when her friends were friends with each other.

The keyword being: _used to._

When Hermione dragged Pansy into her friendship circle, she had worried about Luna's reaction more than Ron or Harry. She figured Pansy would rapidly warm to Ginny and never gave them much thought. But Luna, while not a delicate flower, didn't deserve the kind of verbal venom Pansy subscribed to.

As it turned out, however, she'd had no need to worry—at least about her quirky friend. Pansy had sized up a serenely smiling Luna for a long second before declaring that she liked her grapevine earrings. In Pansy's book, that was practically an offer of friendship. Then Pansy and Harry just sort of nodded at one another in acknowledgement, while she frowned distastefully at Ron's entire existence.

But Ginny?

It was like throwing a match on petrol. In the beginning, they had clashed so hard Hermione could have sworn she saw sparks flying off of them during each interaction. Luna had reminded her that, while likes had a tendency to clash, two people who were threatened by one another's presence only fought harder for dominance. Hermione eventually had to give up and let them battle with snide comments and one disagreeing with the other just because they could.

The war had lasted until the previous year when the fire starved itself as the lashes dwindled. From the ashes rose a friendship formed out of mutual respect, entirely independent of Hermione. How it had happened, no one knew, and neither of them spoke of it. Harry thought that they had found common ground, but Hermione didn't think that was likely until their bond showed at the most random of moments…

For the better part of the morning, Hermione painted Harry and Ginny's living room a neutral eggshell colour to prepare the house to sell. Luna performed her routine check for Nargle and Wrackspurt infestations while Pansy and Ginny discussed the floors in the kitchen. Whispers filtered from the room as they debated tile versus wood.

Honestly, Hermione should have realised something was afoot when their discussion turned into bickering before falling quiet.

 _Much too quiet_.

But Hermione was so focused on her task, making careful strokes with the paint roller (because Pansy swore Muggle paint would last longer) that she hadn't spared it a thought. Had she been paying attention, she would have recognised that it was _all_ a trap: everything from the painting to the discussion about the floors to her _entire_ Saturday morning visit.

All orchestrated by the two of them to corner her.

_Literally._

When Hermione sat on the tarp protecting the floor to take a break, she only had time to wipe the sweat from her brow and pick up her canteen of cold water before she found herself surrounded on either side, boxed in like a lone fox surrounded by a pack of wild dogs.

The analogy didn't make her any less rattled.

Ginny plucked the canteen from her hand while Pansy diverted her attention with a mischievous grin. At that moment, Hermione knew she was in deep shite.

"How did you enjoy the solstice party?"

"Umm…" Disoriented by their invasion, Hermione blinked and rubbed at a smear of paint on her wrist. "I was with you most of the night, so you know I enjoyed myself. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, too, and the potion worked great. No complaints from anyone."

_Outside of Draco Malfoy._

Hermione cleared her throat of the awkward blockage the name inspired.

Then again because it didn't go away.

Pansy pretended to be deep in thought, one black manicured fingernail tapping her chin. "I distinctly remember us being apart a time or two. Right, Weasley?"

"I _do_ believe we were looking for you around Last Light, but then you showed up and—"

" _Anyway_ ," Pansy said through gritted teeth, cutting her eyes at the redhead who had said too much, judging from the swipe she made under her own neck. "Did you get to see Stonehenge before dark?"

There was an alarming yet expectant smile on Pansy's face; it inspired nothing short of fear.

First, because it was crazed in a serial killer sort of way.

Second—and most importantly—because she suddenly knew that _they knew_.

All of which confirmed this was a trap that they had sprung together. _That_ led to a deep regret about them ever becoming friends and an instant desire to return to the days where they fought each other instead of teaming up.

Because that was what they were doing.

Hermione calculated an escape plan that didn't have a high probability for success, but it was all she could figure out with such little preparation.

"I think I have a headache." She tried to get up.

"Bullshit, Granger." Pansy grabbed her wrist; the witch was stronger than she looked. "Weasley _saw_ you."

Heat flooded her cheeks like a broken dam, much like it always did when she felt _truly_ out of sorts. She took a deep breath, exhaling as slowly as she could.

Perhaps the paint fumes would get to her before she had to tell the story. Perhaps they were already working.

She felt faint.

"Well, I—"

"You snogged Draco." Pansy snapped her fingers impatiently. "Weasley saw it and now we're _all_ going to talk about _how_ it bloody happened. No excuses. If necessary, I'm prepared for _violence_."

Hermione froze like a goat paralyzed by fear. It was as if her brain suddenly had a surge of energy that split and scattered. Panic started to rise in her chest.

"Ah, um. Pansy, your aggression is at an eleven." Ginny knew her well enough to recognise the absolute _chaos_ occurring in Hermione's mind. "Let's dial it down to a four."

"Hmm." Pansy _actually_ seemed to consider it for a moment. "No, I can't go that low. Maybe an eight… and a half?"

"Five."

"Can we split the—"

"Are you two _actually_ negotiating this?" Hermione's voice sounded far more hysterical than she'd anticipated. It made her cringe.

Pansy blinked at her then went back to Ginny. "We can split the difference at seven."

"I've had nightmares better than this."

There was a pause, then Ginny called for Luna: the voice of reason.

"Just a minute!" Luna's feathery voice floated down the stairs. "You have an infestation of Nargles. I believe it's from Harry." There was a weighted pause. "This is going to take more than I thought."

 _Probably_.

Hermione started laughing but it just sounded strained. Tension flowed through her veins like wet concrete. Ginny patted her arm in sympathy, which had the blessed effect of annoying Hermione's panic into compliance.

She didn't _need_ the comfort. She had a strong grip on reality and an even _stronger_ one on her emotions. She was fine—shrill voice and jittery anxiousness aside.

Furthermore, Hermione was a consenting adult who could snog anyone she pleased.

Her internal cringe became external and full-blown because as soon as she allowed herself to _think_.

She _had_ thought about it before, in the late hours each night since. Nights when she found herself staring at the ceiling, an unending repetition of _The Kiss_ replayed in her mind's eye.

Hermione found herself stuck between two vastly different emotional responses: embarrassment and flustered bewilderment. And as she vacillated on each sliding scale, she felt triply annoyed with herself for being so worked up over snogging that—

"Perhaps let's start at the beginning." Ginny took the lead. "Hermione, when you're ready."

"Or _now_."

The two scowled at each other like cats while Hermione tried to piece her thoughts together to form coherent words. It was difficult. The entire experience was something she had only just reconciled with herself. Using her own mental voice and hearing it out loud were vastly different. More concrete and real.

Yes, that _really_ had happened, which was still just as shocking.

Fortunately for Hermione, she hadn't had to face Malfoy in the days since as he'd been working long enough hours for Narcissa to complain about him cancelling marriage dates. According to his mother, Malfoy had actually _slept_ in his office at the Ministry on one occasion. She might have assumed he was avoiding her, but Scorpius had gotten his note each morning… and he still made her tea.

Which made even less sense.

Hermione reminded herself, for the umpteenth time, that it wasn't an issue because _it was nothing._

She repeated it to herself like a mantra.

 _Nothing_. _Nothing_. _Nothing_.

It _couldn't_ be anything.

"He was already there when I got to the Stonehenge replica." Hermione kept her explanation clinical, devoid of the jittery energy she still felt. "We watched the sunset and talked. It happened by accident—"

" _What_?" Pansy screeched loud enough for her and Ginny to cover their ears for a second. "Did you just say you snogged Draco _by accident_?"

"Yes, I did." Hermione uselessly tucked her hair behind her ears. "I went to wish him a Happy Solstice and he turned his head— _accidentally._ "

Pansy blinked several times before she burst out laughing; Ginny joined in as well. From upstairs, Luna's giggle in comradery rang out, even though she had no idea what she was finding humourous.

"That's—"

"Nothing." Hermione put her foot down on the entire conversation. "It was _nothing_."

Pansy's smile faded slowly and her expression went back to normal.

"That didn't look like nothing, Hermione." Ginny's disbelief was palpable. "That wasn't even a _snog_. Neither of you even _noticed_ me. I cleared my throat _twice_ before I gave up and left. It was like you were both lost in—"

"I don't need the mental image." Hermione pursed her lips. "I was _there_ , thank you, but we both agreed not to discuss it."

"Draco said that?" Pansy arched her brow. "In those words?"

"It doesn't matter if he did or didn't." Hermione didn't let Pansy get a word in edgewise. "When it comes down to it, he's my patient's son, and while not explicitly forbidden in my contract, _I can't_. It's an ethical nightmare and it shouldn't have happened."

"Okay, I can understand that." Ginny rested her elbow on her thigh. "His mother wouldn't react well _at all_ given how she's pushing him to marry a society witch of her choosing."

An understatement.

"But if it had been anyone else?" Pansy had managed to tone her aggression down a notch. Just one. "Would you have let your guard down?"

Hermione gave her a sharp look. She had _some nerve_.

"Yes." Unaffected by the glare, her friend was completely unapologetic. "I have the audacity and I'll _keep_ having the audacity."

"You're really bringing this up right now?" Hermione couldn't believe she'd brought up a sore topic just to prove a point.

"Yes."

" _Fine_." The key to winning any battle was to have a strong defence. "To answer your question, I don't operate off of hypotheticals."

"Try." Ginny gave her a stubborn look. "If it had been someone else, what would you have done? How would you have reacted?"

Hermione tugged at the braid hanging over her shoulder. The arrogant side of her never cared for introspection; it was based on subjective interpretations rather than fact. As a teenager, and even into her twenties, Hermione never understood why people held something so difficult in such high regard. But now, she knew the necessity even though it still didn't necessarily _feel_ great.

Still, if she were being honest with herself, Hermione would be forced to acknowledge that, had it been anyone else, she probably would have at least _calculated_ the potential risk—something she hadn't bothered to do at all with Malfoy.

_Because she couldn't._

The variables were all wrong.

The ingredients were there, but mixing them together involved accounting for interactions between more components than she could fathom.

_Would the blend be worth it? Would it work or fail? Why even waste the mental energy on something so farfetched and intangible?_

It wasn't her way.

Now, whether she would have taken the plunge with anyone else depended on about a dozen factors Hermione didn't have time to detail at length. Her two friends were still staring at her so she figured she needed to draft a suitable response.

"I would be logical and sensible. I don't take risks like that and I would need to carefully think before making any decision like that. It's hard for me to let go and—"

"You _clearly_ did with Draco." Pansy clearly refused to ease off the topic.

Hermione and Ginny gave Pansy a long look that she smiled at in response. Feeling frustrated and _raw,_ still trying to put together the pieces of her own confusing puzzle, Hermione scrubbed her hands over her face a few times.

"Okay, I did, but I'm not the sort that would just throw myself into something because of a—a good feeling."

"A good feeling, eh?" Pansy's mouth twisted into a sly grin. "Tell me more."

"Uh…" Hermione rubbed the side of her neck, still so flustered, something she absolutely despised. "It was…"

_Like mixing two ingredients that shouldn't enhance or detract from one another; the environment served as a catalyst for the explosion and chaos that had occurred._

The ensuing fire. The heat. The smoke. The fear. The _panic_.

She remembered it all.

She couldn't forget it, even if she tried.

"I'm certain you don't want to hear about me snogging—"

"Oh, I _absolutely_ do." Pansy's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I mean, I saw Weasley's memory of it, but—"

Hermione recoiled. " _Excuse me?"_

"Yes, yes." Pansy waved her off. "Theo happens to have a Pensieve. We all took a look—well, just us and Luna."

" _Luna?_ " Hermione almost screeched.

"I'll be down in a minute!" the witch called from upstairs. "So many Nargles! I know I sprayed last month!"

They all exchanged looks. Ginny nodded along as if Luna's point of aggravation wasn't at all ridiculous.

Pansy's smile shifted from sly to fond then it grew too wide. "Go on."

"I don't see why that's necessary since you've both watched it like a bloody film."

"A snippet." Pansy shrugged. "She was only there a minute or so. You certainly seemed… into it."

Ginny made a mock explosion noise and gestured with her hands.

She had no idea how accurate that was.

"Our reservations were low," Hermione reasoned. "It happens. It could have been that way with anyone."

"But it was _him."_

"Yes, it was, which makes my argument valid." She frowned at Pansy. "I won't even bother bringing up the point that Malfoy was raised to believe I was nothing because of my blood status; that wouldn't be fair. We're in our thirties, and I can acknowledge he's not that person anymore. The fact of the matter is, we don't make sense on an atomic level. I can't even entertain the thought of calculating that risk—it's ludicrous."

"Nobody said _anything_ about you two making sense," Pansy pointed out with a roll of her eyes. "I just asked about the snog that you _clearly_ and _enthusiastically_ enjoyed."

Hermione internally winced at the truth in Pansy's words.

"But it doesn't surprise me that your academic brain has leapt too far ahead. I find it interesting that you've put so much thought into something you've classified as nothing."

"It's not a classification. I—"

"I spent eight years going through the motions of _nothing_ out of duty in a marriage I didn't want." Pansy's conviction was evident. "I _know_ what nothing looks like. _That_ —"

"Was a moment." Hermione drank her water.

"Can you _really_ classify that as a moment?" A mystified Ginny was still making gestures that alluded to what she'd witnessed. "There were a lot of _hands_ and he walked you back to the—"

"A _moment_ ," Hermione repeated with a fierce scowl. "That is exactly how I'll describe it because that's what it was. One single moment. A lapse in good sense I fully blame on the potions dulling."

"I thought the potion lowered your guard," Luna said as she emerged from the entryway, startling them all despite her soft, plumy voice. "Though, I didn't feel any differently."

She shrugged and joined them, sitting next to Ginny with her normal faraway expression. If Hermione had to guess, that likely had to do with the fact that Luna had few reservations to begin with.

"I didn't think it created something that didn't exist," Luna mused.

Pansy threw her arm out as if Luna's statement was the effective end of the discussion. "And _this_ is why I like you."

The blonde just preened with a beaming smile and played with her braid.

"What she said." Between Pansy's narrowed eyes and the manicured brow arched high on her forehead, Hermione knew this discussion was far from over. "Argue that, _Granger_."

Hermione was poised and ready to do just that when Ginny metaphorically clubbed her over the head with more facts. "Also, no one else snogged like that at the party." Ginny's pointed stare did little to ease Hermione's discomfort. "Harry and Malfoy had an _entire_ conversation earlier in the evening that neither of them appeared to hate. If you're looking for reference, Harry laughed once."

"They've found common ground in the last month or so."

Ginny considered her point. "One could argue that you two have as well."

"It's not a great leap. I'm his mother's Healer, so it makes sense that we have." Hermione had a feeling her arguments fell on deaf ears. "It's _important_ that I'm on the same page as the family, especially in her case."

Malfoy was the only adult family Narcissa had. She needed Malfoy on board to make her life smooth for the extent of her contract. At least, that had been her initial thought process when she'd first started caring for Narcissa.

There was a small part of her that was still on her original quest, because she hadn't had much success. However, that could be blamed on the second—and admittedly larger—part of her that had strayed from her initial course. Natural, given the conversations they'd had, the things she'd learned about him, and the growing list of actions and attributes that felt so at odds. That part of her was looking around lost, stalled out and trying to figure out which direction they needed to go in to find their way back… or ahead to their destination.

Wherever that was.

"My statement stands."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. As much as she wanted to argue, Ginny wasn't wrong. But that didn't mean anything. Just because there wasn't animosity didn't mean there was room for anything else to inhabit the empty space. And she could _definitely_ speak for Malfoy, who was apparently selective about who he spent time with and maintained his distance from anyone outside his social circle as if they had a contagious disease.

By his logic, any time they had spent together—including their morning tea conversations—had been situationally necessary, at best. And meaningless. She didn't fit any of those qualifications because she was _nothing_ to him.

And he was nothing to her.

_Nothing._

Except for that moment when potions had lowered their walls and her emotions had run rampant.

Then…

Well, it did not matter. Because it was not real.

A neuron fired, pushing a single thought from one cell to the next; a thought that made her wonder if maybe…

 _No_.

The logical part of her brain shut down that frail idea like a dangerous carnival ride. It was _impossible_. She had no room for irrelevant hope, only practicality and facts. And having any sort of emotions in a context where they were wholly unwanted and likely unreturned would cause problems.

Hermione had already dealt with enough emotional problems over the years, especially as they pertained to Ron.

Problems she was still dealing with.

She had no capacity to take on anything else.

"You look deep in thought, Hermione." Ginny rested a patient hand on her shoulder. "We'll touch on it again whenever you'd l—"

At that, Pansy squawked like a bird in vehement disagreement.

"That was an excellent phoenix call, Pansy."

"Thank you." The witch preened. "But I was about to say—"

"She's not ready." Ginny shot a glare at Pansy and wrapped her arm over Hermione's shoulder. Her next words were low, spoken only for Hermione's ears. "But when you're ready to give up your residency in denial, we'll help you."

Hermione didn't know how to feel when Ginny's smile took on a sinister glint.

"Anyway, I think it's time for a subject change," Ginny announced. "There was something else I noticed at the party. You and my brother."

Pansy gasped dramatically. "You _traitor_."

She merely shrugged while Hermione slowly perked back up now that she wasn't the one on trial. "I am _definitely_ interested to hear this story."

Pansy huffed. "Only to divert attention away from yourself!"

"Perhaps, but I'm certain it's a compelling story. You still owe me after my living room."

"Living room?" Ginny and Luna looked even more interested.

"Well, the night I was summoned to the Ministry, Percy showed up to take me out and he apologised for leaving her at dessert. How was the banoffee pie, Pansy?"

"It was delicious at four in the morning." Pansy's eyes were narrowed in challenge, but then they softened slightly. "Not quite certain how he pulled that one off. But since you're dying to know, we're… taking it slow, I suppose. Figuring it out."

Hermione gave her a long look. "This is a marathon walk from him annoying you with roses."

With a shrug, Pansy checked her nails. "He's as persistent as he is _aggravating_. Must be a Weasley thing."

She glared at Ginny, who grinned brightly. They did have _persistence_ in spades. Ron was the example that came to mind, no matter the fact that he'd brought Lisa Turpin to the party.

Pansy turned her attention towards the kitchen. "I think a tile will do just—"

Hermione gasped. "You _fancy_ him!"

"Well, _fine_. He's consistent. I like that he gives me freedom and lets me set the pace. Neither of us are in any rush. We're busy people." A light blush dusted Pansy's cheeks. "Also, he's so bloody _fit_. I'm fairly certain he's adopted. No _way_ can he be related to you or your _unfortunate_ brother. I mean, have you _seen_ his arse? Could bounce a Gal—"

Ginny covered her ears, visibly distressed. "Okay! That's my _brother_ for fuck's sake!"

"You asked." Pansy's grin was unapologetic and retaliatory

"I will never make that mistake again."

"See that you don't."

* * *

Hermione's hair was fluffier than usual by the time she finished brewing Narcissa's potions. She bottled them individually in vials and ventured into the conservatory for the first time all day. She realised something important.

She'd left the cactus.

Yesterday she'd bowed out after delivering it to drawing time with Albus. She'd then gone home to continue working on her recipe for the potion she was inventing for Narcissa. The results had been incredibly frustrating.

Oh well.

She had to deliver the potions anyway, might as well bring them tonight and grab her cactus.

When she stepped out of the Floo, she spotted several things that were out of place.

First, there was no cactus on the coffee table.

But before she could wonder about that, the second thing came into full focus.

Draco Malfoy.

He sat in the armchair adjusting the square frames on his face. Dressed in all black—too formal to be at home—with a book in his hands, it took a moment for him to notice her. When he did, however, he did a double take. Then he cut a critical eye to her attire. Where he looked practically flawless while lounging, Hermione's casual yet practical outfit, consisting of jeans and a stained shirt to match her wild hair, likely left much to be desired.

" _Granger_."

Her name rolled off his tongue like fine wine: smooth and heady.

The thought made her stomach twist, but Hermione stomped the foreign feeling down as he moved, shutting his book and rising to greet her formally. Hermione blinked at him like he had three heads while trying to determine _when_ he'd started doing that.

Oh, and why she felt so bloody uncomfortable.

She'd spent the afternoon trying to create a potion while sorting her logic about the situation to herself, smoothing down the rough ends that didn't make sense. It wasn't completely necessary, as she would likely only have to defend herself to her Pansy and Ginny, but in case they wanted to further discuss it, Hermione was now ready.

What she wasn't ready for was actually _seeing_ Malfoy.

His hand flexed at his side.

He didn't look prepared to see her either.

"I believe I scheduled our meeting for tomorrow at two, according to the Magi-Scheduler."

"Oh?" Hermione blinked. "I haven't checked it today. I was busy. I brought over your mother's potions." She gestured to the general area of the kitchen then quickly walked in that direction. "I'll just put these away." In no time, Hermione had all the vials arranged in order and shut the cabinet. "All done, I'll just—"

Malfoy was not where she'd last seen him.

No, somehow he'd made it to the kettle without her noticing.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Without looking, Malfoy waved his wand. The cabinet door opened and two teacups flew out, landing gently on the island behind him. Malfoy placed his wand on the counter before glancing at her, one eyebrow lifted in question. "You didn't answer."

For a moment, Hermione considered declining, but he'd scheduled a meeting with her on a Sunday so it must have been important.

Perhaps about his mother.

"Yes. I suppose we can also discuss the reason for the meeting you've scheduled."

Malfoy nodded and continued on, never asking her what sort of tea she wanted or how she took it. It wasn't that important. He knew what he was doing.

It wasn't long before they were sitting at the outdoor table with tea—for her, oolong, a new addition she'd brought over, with a bit of honey and a twist of lemon. Exactly how she liked it. For him, black tea.

With three sugar cubes.

Nothing at all like the tea she'd made for him before.

It was just after dusk, but before full darkness. The Malfoy's home was situated in the suburbs, in a way, but London's smog didn't allow for many stars. Not like at her cottage. Still, it was quieter outside than expected, just the occasional sounds of the world passing them. Cars. Buses. Distant voices. An aeroplane. Not that they could see anything beyond his high fence. Not that anyone could see them due to his strong wards. It was peaceful in a strange way; the noise served as proof that they weren't alone.

The outdoor lights were on, providing the light that Malfoy needed to continue reading between sips. Time passed and darkness crept in like a mist. Silence was as awkwardly challenging as it was contented.

The moment before he lost himself in his book, his eyes cut to her and it was almost as if he remembered she was there all over again. There was a pause when Malfoy seemed on the edge of speaking before he cleared his throat and returned to his novel.

It felt like having a quiet moment with Theo, a guided silence that only lasted as long as he intended it to. Apparently, that was something they had in common.

On his fourth cycle of read, look, repeat, Malfoy finally shut his book and turned his attention to the garden.

"As adults, I assume we're both mature enough to discuss what happened on the Solstice."

Hermione nearly choked on her tea, but managed to keep silent until she found the words to formulate her question. "Is this what your meeting was about?"

"Yes." He looked at her for the first time. "It's what I wanted to talk about that night."

" _Why_?" She recoiled in confusion. What could he possibly think they'd have to talk about?

"I beg your pardon?" Malfoy looked thrown by the question, his brows fixed together slightly as he opened his mouth to say something else, then shook his head in distaste. "Actually—"

"I asked why." Hermione placed her teacup on the table, turning to him. "I believe we agreed not to speak about it."

"Actually, _you_ agreed, I—"

She interrupted him with an incredulous snort. At his offended look, Hermione shook her head in apology. "I'm sorry. That was incredibly rude. However, I'm not sure what we have to discuss. It happened. It's over. That's all there is to it."

Malfoy said nothing for several minutes, drumming his fingers on the table. Hermione waited patiently, tapping her foot on the stone. When he finally spoke, his tone was curt and dismissive, hard eyes returning to the distance.

"It appears my assumption about maturity was premature."

Now, it was her turn to draw back in surprise, eyes focusing on him with an intensity that made him return her glare with a levelled one of his own. "Touché. I see you've regressed fifteen years to the boy who hurls insults."

He scoffed. "That wasn't an insult, Granger. It was a _statement_. A factual one."

"What _exactly_ is there to discuss, Malfoy? We snogged while our inhibitions were low. Just the heat of the moment." Hermione haphazardly waved her hand. "It meant _nothing_ and therefore doesn't warrant the discussion you're trying to have." She shifted in her seat. "And what does a kiss even mean, really? In certain cultures, it's as common as a greeting."

"As common as a greeting," Draco repeated, voice like stone. He picked up his tea with his left hand and took a deep sip. When he finished, he placed it back on the saucer, cutting his eyes over to her. "And this is your decision? Not to discuss what happened?"

"It's not that I don't want to discuss it, there just isn't _anything_ to discuss." She crossed her legs, leaning back, appearing relaxed, even though she was stiffening more and more with each passing second. When she chanced another look in his direction, she noticed Malfoy was stiff, too. "Logically, why should we waste our energy on something that was meaningless to the both of us? Obviously, you have something to say or you wouldn't have scheduled that meeting. Just say it."

"I've quickly realised that it no longer matters. Whatever I say you'll just argue. I'd rather not waste my breath."

"Maybe that's for the best." Despite saying everything she felt she should to assuage the situation, she felt the conditions shifting, changing, ripening for a confrontation that she wasn't keen to have. So, she kept talking to sort it out before it got messy. "We're familiar strangers, at best, childhood enemies, at worst. It's pointless to waste our breath to entertain the idea. I already know what you're going to say and it makes sense."

Malfoy looked incredibly bored… or completely irritated. She couldn't ascertain one from the other, but his next words made her realise it was _definitely_ the latter.

"So, now you're speaking for me." His drawl was as dry as the terrain around them. From her angle, Malfoy's face was partially shrouded in shadows cast from the dim lights around them. " _Interesting_."

"I'm not speaking for you if it's something you've already said." Uncomfortable, Hermione prattled on as she was sometimes capable of doing when she felt out of sorts. "You're choosy about who you spend your time with. I know you don't want to waste it on something that's nothing."

"You've twisted my words, of course, but ultimately you're correct—in theory." Draco tapped the hardcover of the book twice. "As well as in practice."

Now they were getting somewhere. " _Exactly_. It's nothing."

"Nothing," Malfoy repeated tightly.

When he sipped his tea again, there was a shift in his demeanour. His eyes took on a weight she had never seen him carry. It was nearly imperceptible, but Hermione noticed all the same. It was odd. Cold. An unease settled within her that made her awkwardly stand up to excuse herself.

The discussion was over.

"I have to go."

" _Actually_." Malfoy's voice felt like the sharp end of a knife sliding on her skin. Hermione froze in place. "There are other matters I wish to discuss, if you will. Ones that exist beyond the _nothing_ we've already established."

Inexplicably, she took in the sight of the still-seated man whose clothing was beginning to blend in with the darkness. Well, except for his pale face. His hair was parted in such a way that, combined with the dimness of the light and his anger, made his jawline appear sharper. Her gut told her to leave.

Malfoy looked like a cannon ready to let loose.

"Is there a way for us to discuss this tomorrow during our scheduled time?"

"No." Crisp and short, his response left no room for rebuttal. "I'm certain you have better things to do. As do I."

Hermione didn't like that at all.

His tone. His energy. _Everything_ was altered.

Malfoy rarely gave off anything that resembled emotion. Only fleeting moments passed without his facade, but she could find hints when she looked close enough. Now he was practically running on a battery of his own energy fuelled by his growing anger.

"What do your questions pertain to?" It was the most careful question she'd asked all day.

"My mother's care, first and foremost."

 _That_ , she hadn't expected. He hardly ever had questions about it, always operating under the guise of apathy she wasn't certain was real.

"I wasn't under the impression that you wanted to involve yourself, but if you would like an update, it'll take longer than I have tonight to discuss it."

"I don't want an update. My questions pertain less to her care, and more about _you_ as her caregiver."

"Me?"

"Yes, _you_." There was a quality in his tone that made him sound extra posh; it grated her nerves instantly and made her take a defensive stance. "You graduated from Healer Academy and began your career in Poisoning before moving to Alternative Healing. You mainly work with revived patients and those with potions addictions. You specialise in brewing pain potions and Dreamless Sleep."

"That's correct."

That he'd looked at her credentials wasn't a surprise. Malfoy was as paranoid as he was detached.

"How _exactly_ are you qualified to work with neurological disorders?"

First Sachs. Now Malfoy.

She was so sick and tired of having this conversation., _tired_ of having to prove herself to people who didn't know anything about her work or the extent of time, consultations, research, and _dedication_ she'd put into Narcissa's care plan. She'd invested her _all_ into a woman who was intractable at best. Each struggle, each argument, each setback, each progress. The moments Narcissa forgot, the whispers of depression that followed her remembering. By now, Hermione had been through it all. Every step of the way. Even when it was hard. Even when she was tallying in her head how many times and ways she would quit. She never did, though. Instead, Hermione rose to meet each and every challenge.

And she did so again.

"Since you're suddenly curious, I wish you would have read _all_ of my credentials. If you had, you would have seen that I specialise in slowing the progression of certain terminal diseases and recognised that this qualification of mine is why I'm here. Your mother asked for the best. She got me."

"You might be _Hermione Granger_." For the first time, he said her name as though it were an insult. "But are you so arrogant to believe that you are _really_ the best person to care for my mother?"

She felt her blood boil as grey eyes bore into her. "Theo believes that I am, as does she."

"Ah, yes, but she doesn't _know you_ , now does she." Not a question, but a statement. "It makes me wonder how I can trust my mother's health to someone who—at one point—couldn't take care of their own."

Hermione stepped back, curling her fingers into a fist at her side.

"Yes, I know all about your breakdown. It would seem you collapsed in your office from exhaustion and were found unconscious by Magical Maintenance. I know about the week you spent unconscious in St Mungo's, followed by the month you spent there due to the amnesia surrounding the entire event." Malfoy rose from his chair like a cobra ready to attack. "When you dig deep enough, you can find answers to nearly every question."

"My Ministry file is _sealed_ , how did you—" Realisation dawned on her. "You _stole_ it."

"I have my ways." He shrugged, resting his hand on the book on the table. "Nothing that comes in and out of my house goes unnoticed by me. I have _explained_ this to you, Granger." He leaned in a fraction. " _Nothing_."

" _Wow_ , you're a real paranoid bastard."

"Yes, I _am_."

"And that's all you'll _ever_ be," Hermione spat back. She didn't mean it, she was just infuriated by Malfoy's behaviour.

His hand clenched, but then his entire demeanour returned to something near placid. Nevertheless, she could feel the anger rolling off him. Which was fine because she was furious as well.

"You think I care about what you know? I'm not ashamed of what happened to me, but to call my qualifications into question because of that is—"

"Perfectly reasonable, Granger. My mother pays you handsomely to care for her yet there's an entire record attesting to the fact that you can't take care of yourself."

" _You_ have a record as well, exonerated or not, but you won't catch me sniffing around the Ministry for it." Rather than retreat, she stepped towards him, holding his gaze in a fierce grip. "I don't judge you for it."

"Are you _absolutely_ certain about that?" His voice lowered as he stepped close enough that Hermione had to lift her head to keep watch. "Y—"

"I don't owe you an explanation for anything, Malfoy. I was chosen to care for your mother, who's hinted more than once that she knows about my past. What happened to me doesn't negate _any_ of my credentials _or_ the good I've done so far in helping her. Her brain scans show very little change since her diagnosis and her levels are now normal. That is because of _me_ and _my_ care plan. My past doesn't make me incompetent. In fact, the only thing it makes me is _human_." She felt her heart race and tried to calm herself before she got too worked up. "I would even venture to say that my experience makes me _more_ qualified to take care of your mother."

"Exactly how—"

"I have every certification and qualification needed, and I _refuse_ to explain myself to you. I owe you _nothing_ except to keep your mother's _mind_ and _body_ as intact as possible. I don't tell you how to do your job, so don't you _dare_ tell me how to do mine. Furthermore, since you care enough about her to dig up my supposed _secrets_ , since you have so many _concerns_ , you should probably voice them to your mother because _she_ thinks you hate her!"

Malfoy took a sharp breath. Had he not been so close, she wouldn't have heard it.

"Our relationship is _none_ of your concern, Granger." His response was as dark as the sky. And cloudy as well. A gathering storm. "My mother is your _only_ patient. What I do—"

"Frankly, Malfoy, I don't give a damn what you do, but before you air out my supposed secrets, you should take a hard look at yourself. Perhaps you should redirect the energy you've put into figuring me out towards your _own_ house." They were toe to toe now and she had no idea how that happened. Still, peering up, anger and insolence poured off of her. "There's an old Muggle saying about people who live in glass houses… They shouldn't throw stones."

His gaze sharpened and his jaw clenched just before he raised his head to look out into the distance. "There is also the matter of my son's attachment to a certain _cactus_ in my office."

So, that was where it had gone.

Well, that just angered her more.

"It's a cactus, Malfoy. It's harmless."

"You aren't in any position to decide what is or isn't harmless to my son."

"Fascinating you should mention that because as far as _I_ know, _neither are you_." Hermione was practically vibrating with rage.

And she _knew_ she'd hit him low— _too low_. Judging from his quick flinch, he'd felt the blow, but she was so furious she couldn't help it. She didn't care one knut about his feelings because he didn't seem to give a damn about hers.

"You should focus on your _actual_ patient. My son doesn't need your pity in the form of gifts."

"Pity?" Hermione couldn't stop herself from screeching. "That's—"

"I have one rule for my house, Granger. Nothing in or out without my knowledge. You violated the rules with your cactus."

"Are you _seriously_ upset about this?" She stepped back, blinking at him in disbelief. "Are we arguing about a bloody _cactus_? This is absolutely ridiculous!"

"It's not." His lip curled into a familiar sneer. "This is _my_ home and I have rules about this for the safety of my family—"

"You've _been_ to my house, Malfoy. You've _seen_ the cactus. You knew _exactly_ what it was the moment you saw it, so what are you really upset about?" She put her hands on her hips, peering at him through narrowed eyes, feeling her rage bubble in a dangerous way. "Because I am—" Hermione stopped herself, taking a cleansing breath before she completely lost her composure. "Where is it?"

"In my office."

She was about to storm off, retrieve her cactus, and get the _hell_ away from him when something that was probably a bad idea stopped Hermione in her tracks before she even moved. Something that had been building with each interaction with Scorpius. _Especially_ as of late. _Especially_ today when he kept signing _father_ over and over again.

She had never once thought about speaking her mind to him. Not only was it not her place, but Malfoy had enough to deal with. In her opinion, though, this could no longer sit on the sidelines.

"Do you know why I brought a cactus into your house?"

Malfoy didn't respond, which was absolutely fine because she intended to speak her peace anyway, permission granted or not.

"I brought a cactus because Scorpius is miserable. He's _lonely_ and _hurting_ and that's not something I should have to tell his _father,_ who worries more about protecting him from the non-threat of a damn _cactus_ than he does about spending time with _him_."

He visibly tensed. "You have _no idea_ what you're talking about, Granger."

"I know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. Just like you're observant, so am I. Your son—"

"He may like you, Granger, but let me be very clear: Scorpius is _none_ of your concern."

"He's not." She bristled at the chilly rage coming off him, but it did nothing to cool hers. "I'm aware, _fuck_ —I am _completely_ aware of this, but I _cannot_ continue to do nothing when a child is so distressed that he _refuses_ to speak!" Hermione ran a hand through her wild hair. The urge to cry rose in her chest. "If I'm being honest, I would have _quit_ , but I _refuse_ to be another person who's _abandoned_ him. And yes, I mean _you_."

Malfoy moved quickly, crowding her against an invisible wall, not touching, but close. She didn't need to see the fury to feel it thickening around them, choking out the clean air until it was suffocating them both.

"Take it _back_."

Hermione didn't back down. Never would. Even though she could.

"I won't." Her voice was thick with the same emotions that swelled whenever she saw Scorpius, talked to him, witnessed his victories, and grimaced at his setbacks. She hardened. "I won't quit. I won't be quiet. I _refuse_. You want to talk about things that don't pertain to you, fine. But so will I."

"Granger—"

"You leave him notes he can't even read, Malfoy, but he doesn't need your notes, he needs _you._ " The wave of emotions hit so fiercely that tears blurred her vision. She found herself yelling at him, not for own benefit, but for Scorpius. "He doesn't need rules and discipline, he doesn't need to bow and learn which fork to use, he doesn't need to know five languages—this is _not_ what his mother wanted for him!"

The stilted rage coming from Malfoy was unlike anything she'd ever seen before.

A twisted shiver snaked down her spine, but Hermione charged on.

"He _needs_ you to close the distance, step in, and be his father! He hides from you because he's scared and he doesn't know you! Set the tone, stop leaving, and put him first! Show some goddamn _affection_! He's _starved_ for it to the point where he'll befriend a _cactus_ just so neither of them will be _alone_ —"

"That's _enough_ , Grang—"

"I am _not_ finished!" Unexpected tears trailed down her cheeks. "You want me to worry exclusively about my actual patient, _fine_! Then _you_ need to worry about your son. He's already lost his mother, he will eventually lose his grandmother, and then there will be just _you_. Notes and hidden affection aside, you don't even _know_ him. He's _brilliant_ , Malfoy. He's kind and compassionate, he's—" Hermione angrily wiped her face, regaining her composure—her _ire_. "You will all starve the good out of him if he continues on this path. He'll grow up to resent you, and worse, he'll grow up to _be_ you."

" _Enough_!"

"What's the problem? You don't like hearing the _truth_." She craned her neck up, almost having to reach out and grab him to keep her balance. "I have been in your home for three months now, Malfoy, and the fact that you have the _audacity_ to criticise me and question my qualifications for nearly _working myself to death_ is unbelievable when you do the same."

Malfoy sneered at her.

"Your family is in _chaos_. Fractured. And if your head weren't shoved so far up your own arse, if you weren't concerned about the wrong things, you would step in and _fix this_."

And that statement just pissed him off even more.

"You don't know fuck all of what I have or have not done, Granger. The fact that you _dare_ to bring my dead _wife_ into this is—" He clenched both hands together tight, face flush with fury. "You don't know what I've been through or the measures I've taken to protect him. You don't know the things I _have_ done or what I _will_ do." Malfoy ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I've _tried_ to connect with him, I've not _stopped_ trying. I _keep_ _trying_. Your perception is fucked—"

"Of course it is! You act aloof, you're not present, you don't ask for the help you _clearly_ _need_ , and the only person it's hurting is _Scorpius_." Her head and her heart were pounding out of control. "The fact is, whether you think I'm qualified or not, I know enough about your mother's condition to tell you that she hasn't truly begun to decline. But she _will_ and it's not my job to set a plan in place for when this does happen. It's _yours_. Also, Scorpius sees and hears _everything_. He knows something is wrong and someone needs to talk to him. _This._ " Hermione pointed to his house. "This needs to be your focus. Not my cactus, my qualifications, and _definitely_ not me."

She started for the door, knocking over her chair in the process, but before Hermione left, she recalled what Daphne had said to her in March while angrily eating rhubarb pie.

_She was right._

_So, so right._

Hermione didn't look back, dizzy to the point of nausea from the roaring in her mind and the eruption of emotion in her chest. The only thing she could say were three words that cut through the silence and tension.

"Enough is _enough_."

_Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do.  
_ **Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday. So this chapter is titled because there's a lot of grey in their argument and they both were right in places and wrong in others. Human nature at its finest. I know everyone wants to rail on Hermione about her reaction to the kiss, but I've set up her reasons for how she reacts to all this. She's hyper logical, not ready and neither is he. If you think she's gonna dive into something head first, that's just not who she is. Not who she's been after her collapse and the war. They would implode at this point if anything were to start. Draco...let's be real, he lashed out in defensiveness, but this argument has been coming, building. I've been setting it up for a while, especially as it pertains to Scorpius and Hermione getting closer. But this too is a shift in everything. See you all on the 26th. Oh, and Covid recovery is ongoing!


	18. The Head And The Heart

***TW: description of anxiety attack**

**  
  
Eighteen**

_The Head and the Heart_

_**June 26, 2011** _

Hermione tried to avoid it, but restlessness flooded her lungs, raced through her veins, and weighed down her heart. She couldn't sleep, couldn't _move._ She just sank and sank and _sank_.

Lower.

Deeper.

The darkness rose to greet her, and soon Hermione was cloaked and _drowning_. She tried to fight it—panic hovered at the edge of existence—but it was no use. She was not strong enough.

And so, Hermione plunged until she wondered if she would reach the bottom. Would it matter? There was no comfort found this low, only foggy doubt and the debilitating weight of uncertainty.

This wasn't new.

This was her nature.

Equal parts cause _and_ effect of life and experiences, all Hermione could do was lie and _feel_ everything as the battle waged between her head and heart.

The conflict was old, had been going on all her life, with no real winner in sight. Scales tipped from one side to the other, never finding balance. No treaty had been signed, but a ceasefire was in place; her logical brain had stopped trying to interfere with her emotional heart. And vice versa.

But not anymore.

Hermione should have known it wouldn't last.

Tonight's battle was fierce and unrelenting—as unforgiving as any external war. Her stomach rolled with every memory, her head pounded with every breath, and her body ached with every word. It was a war so frightening that sleep ran in the opposite direction, so ugly that dreams hid as she wrapped herself in covers, searching for warmth she never found.

Rest vanished as agitation greeted her like another old friend, there to make up for lost time despite Hermione's bone-deep exhaustion.

She was _so tired_.

Her hair had come undone at some point. Her legs twitched. Fingers and toes tingled as if being poked with tiny pins. Itchy spots called for attention, even the ones she couldn't reach. _Especially_ them.

It bothered her.

 _Everything_ bothered her.

When Hermione shut her eyes, a parade of colours danced and whirled behind them in vibrant smears as her mind worked at the speed of light. Every shred of her mental energy went to rapidly cataloguing every detail of her argument with Malfoy—the centre of her thoughts, the source of her discontentment.

Organised every moment. Analysed every expression. Memorised every word.

Everything was in its place, separated by what she meant and what she didn't. What was yelled in passion and anger, and the murky grey areas of uncertainty. Subdivided further into everything that was right, possibly wrong, and what landed in between.

Hermione was most ashamed by how _much_ had fallen into greys and in-betweens.

Her head and heart warred on, despite knowing there would be no true winner or loser.

Only mutually assured destruction.

The air in her bedroom carried a chill, and she bundled deeper in her covers; the pillow alternated between rock hard and too soft. As soon as Hermione got comfortable, she felt a rush of warmth and threw off the blanket. She took a deep breath. Then another. She counted each inhale, like she'd done in her therapist's office whenever the swell of panic and emotions loomed larger than her will to subdue them. Hermione focused on one empty spot in her mind and shut her eyes, sinking into a calmer physical and mental state that allowed her to become mindful of everything.

Her heart, oddly enough, was the loudest; it fought the hardest, ready to leap from her chest and pounding the beat of a battle cry. Her brain was on the defence, protecting itself on a primal, primitive level that she couldn't control. Nothing new there. Hermione continued to count her breaths, willing her racing heart to slow, to steady like the stream in front of her house.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

This would pass.

In and out. Hermione tried to make herself relax, but the moment her body had begun the descent into unconsciousness, the instant the battle began to calm, the second she found herself just a breath from reaching her goal of sleep…

Hermione jolted upright, focusing on the sensation.

There was a tingle of… _something_ at the outer edges of her diversion wards.

Something not so human. Rationally, she knew it could be anything—a squirrel, a bird, an insect—but logic didn't stop her heart from hammering against her chest.

The quick brush of feeling was gone before she could identify it, before she even knew just what was there, but deep down, her paranoia rumbled.

Hermione stopped trying to sleep.

Partly out of the fear she attempted to choke back, but mainly to spare herself the whispers that haunted her dreams.

Giving up on rest wasn't enough to stop Hermione from trying to settle herself through other means. She read a book to occupy her mind, then a better one because the first wasn't good enough. She played white noise and performed deep breathing and relaxation exercises.

A warm bath. Warm milk. Lavender and chamomile tea.

When neither worked, she tried wine.

Hermione put aromatherapy oils in her diffuser. Her bedroom smelled like a lush, provincial field of lavender. When that wasn't enough, she moved from the bed to the sofa to the chaise in her conservatory to the floor, all alternating between pillow versus no pillow, blanket versus no blanket.

Not that any of it mattered.

_Nothing worked._

Even the few sips of Dreamless Sleep she _finally_ allowed herself to indulge in proved useless. All Hermione ended up with was a sore neck, an upset stomach, and a racing mind that couldn't stop analysing three things:

Nothing. Something. Everything.

After three in the morning, she decided to greet what was certain to be a long and miserable Sunday. It was still too early to start weeding and watering, but she was also hesitant about what had brushed against her wards earlier. No matter what it was, it was beyond her control and outside of her farthest wards.

Too restless to lounge, Hermione stood in her conservatory and stared up at the dark, cloudy sky.

There that word was again.

_Restless._

An old habit that never died; it hibernated until the perfect moment.

 _This isn't restlessness,_ a tiny, introspective voice whispered. _It's guilt._

Well, _that_ wasn't accurate.

Hermione knew guilt. It was an old friend that joined her from time to time, especially when she visited her parents. She refused to feel it right then. It carried responsibility, as well as the acknowledgement, that she had been wrong about some things…

But _certainly_ not everything.

And now she was back to her greys and in betweens.

Hermione bristled at everything she couldn't categorise. So much. Too much. Ignoring that whisper from within, she found herself seeking productive activity. She needed to do something to keep her mind at work and her spirit at ease. Distracted. Calm. Reading had been a bust, her eyes too bleary for the act, so Hermione fell back on her second love.

Organisation.

The work began in her kitchen, where she took everything from its place, scrubbed down each surface by hand, and rearranged it all in a way that soothed her mind. When that job was completed, Hermione stood back and looked, wondering if it would be enough to allow her to rest.

It wasn't.

Next was her pantry. She checked every label. Flour, custard powder, and sugar. Couscous, rolled oats, and bulgur wheat. It amazed her how disorganised everything; she had never noticed it before. Hermione checked seals before rearranging everything based on how often it was used. She catalogued her spices, placing them back in alphabetical order and making notes about which ones needed replacing or would soon. Her Quick Quotes Quill scratched furiously behind her.

When Hermione finished, she looked at her work and wondered if _this_ was enough to allow her rest.

And, once again, though exhaustion covered her like a sheet, she was awake.

Wide awake.

At the start of the five o'clock hour, after cleaning her entire house from top to bottom, Hermione stood in the last place that needed work: the storage closet in her brewing room. Floor to ceiling shelves were packed with ingredients she hadn't truly organised since the room's creation. Hermione started from the top, pulling down the barely used and rare ingredients she had in the event that she would need them one day, checking labels and quantity, and making notes for Blaise or Daphne.

The sun rose while she worked, and muted colours filtered into the room from the small window.

Once Hermione counted her fairy wings, made certain the leech juice hadn't gone rancid, and relabeled her borage as the ink had faded, she thought about eating…

But decided against it when her stomach gave another roll in protest, still upset by the mixture she'd subjected it to. Still, perhaps—Hermione decided after realising she'd gone through four of the eleven rows—it was time for a break. She got down off the ladder and wandered into her office, checking her Magi-Scheduler.

Malfoy's meeting had been removed, and curiously enough, it had been replaced with Narcissa's name.

 _Good_ , she thought with a stirring of something that felt less like anger and more like… Hermione struggled to find the emotion that matched. She sighed to the empty room. Her trouble plants needed some attention; using her wand, she watered each one around her office.

Hermione continued the soothing task, watering the plants in the windowsill of her kitchen while looking out at the mist layered over the pasture. She put the kettle on and went into the conservatory to continue her efforts. Teasing the spine of the Touch Me Not with her finger, her eyes rested on the empty spot where the cactus _should have been_. But it wasn't.

She had left it at Malfoy's.

_Again._

"Dammit."

That just rankled her nerves all over again. Hermione scrubbed her face, exhaled, then continued watering and checking the plants while trying to enjoy the sun's slow ascent over the horizon. Dawn was cloudy and ominous. She decided to forgo weeding before what seemed like an inevitable storm.

She was tired, after all.

Hermione finished watering the climbing roses before making herself a cup of ginger tea to settle her stomach. Venturing back to her office, tea in hand, she glanced—not at her scheduler—but at her to-do list.

_Visit Kingsley._

It seemed like as good a plan as any.

She Apparated just outside Kingsley's wards three hours later with an assortment of berries: gooseberries, strawberries, and raspberries. Along with swiss chard, carrots, potatoes, broccoli, eggs, and broad beans. All of it was packed in a crate, made easy to carry with the help of a featherlight charm. By the time she made it up the long walk with her haul, Kingsley was waiting for her, dressed in royal blue beekeeping attire.

"You're earlier than I expected. Come in."

Before she could argue, the older man relieved her of the crate, seemingly amused to find it hardly weighed a thing.

His home was smaller than hers, a cozy cottage with enough space for him and an eclectic blend of furnishings and art that spoke to who he was as a person. Not too much, but not too little. Hermione followed him through the main room, and into his kitchen, which was smaller, but clean and comfortable. There was no island, but a small table with two chairs was set for one.

"Have a seat, I'm just about to start breakfast: egg and cheese crumpets and sauteed spinach and mushrooms."

She hadn't come to eat.

"I just came to drop this o— _okay_." The sharp look he gave her didn't allow for any argument. Hermione dropped into the closest chair, and only then did Kingsley's expression return to its default contentment as he continued prepping breakfast.

Soon, wonderfully flavourful smells filled the air. He was a longtime vegetarian, and cited for his continued health and vigor a result of the food he put in his body. Hermione understood perfectly; she had built her care around her patient's diet for the same reason, but hadn't been able to make the leap. She never once considered vegetarian meals until she noticed Scorpius' tendency to shy away from breakfast sausages or nibble at it just to appease his grandmother.

Now, Hermione found herself wanting to prepare different meals for Scorpius, just to see if he would like them.

"One or two?"

"None thanks." Like the stubborn witch she was, Hermione tried again. "I'm fine— _really_. You don't have to go to the trouble." Another long look made her acquiesce. "One."

Kingsley returned to his task, humming a tune she didn't recognise, while steam rose from the pan.

"You _do_ know it's no trouble at all."

"I don't want to be a—"

"You cook for everyone else. You bring me vegetables between trades for honey. Hermione, you do everything for everyone, but when was the last time someone prepared _you_ a meal?"

"I had dinner with Andromeda earlier this month." It wasn't a problem at all; most of her friends could hardly boil water for pasta.

"Fine." Kingsley quirked an eyebrow. "I'll amend my question: when was the last time you _allowed_ someone to do anything for you without argument or overanalysis?"

She gave it some thought. _A lot of thought._ But in the end, she arrived at an answer. One that told her that it had been quite some time since the roles had been reversed. "It's fine. It's not like I—"

" _Mind_?" Kingsley's lip curled in amusement. "I know you don't. You're a caregiver in that aspect. However, there's something about having someone prepare a meal for you. It can lead to a different perspective, a different blend of flavours you hadn't considered because you hadn't opened yourself to the possibility."

Something uncomfortable stirred in Hermione, but she ignored it, leaning back as Kingsley placed a plate of food in front of her then joined her at the table with his own plate and two forks. Hermione inhaled. It smelled good, looked even better, and the taste far exceeded her expectations. Her stomach forgot all about being upset.

"This is incredible. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They ate in silence, broken only by Kingsley's tiny conversation-filling questions and Hermione's brief, vague answers that earned her pointed looks. When they finished, he collected their plates and did the washing—giving her a throat-clearing warning when she offered to help.

He returned to the table with two steaming cups of peppermint tea.

"I always start the day with it. It's your blend, of course."

Hermione accepted the cup graciously, noting after the first sip that he'd added too much honey. It was too sweet. A little lemon would balance it out.

"What did you learn from the meal?" Kingsley knew she never turned her brain off, but he did not judge her for it.

"That I'd like to make it for—" Hermione stopped herself to take a small sip. "Well, my patient's grandson. He seems less inclined to eat meat, but he's also a picky eater. Perhaps I could have the recipe to make it for him?"

"Of course, but it won't be exact. I rarely use measurements when I cook. As someone who brews as much as you do, I'm sure you understand."

Well…

First, his confession surprised her. All the flavours had blended together too perfectly for it not to have been measured out. And second, "I never brew _anything_ without direction, even if I've brewed it a hundred times before."

"Really?" Kingsley made a small noise in the back of his throat. "I find that peculiar."

He wasn't the only one.

Hermione dismissed the thought, but quietly asked, "How do you know that it'll taste right if you don't use measurements?"

"Just like a talented cook tweaks recipes to make them better, a talented potioneer tweaks the brewing process to improve the potions. As far as your question is concerned," he paused to drink his tea, "sometimes you have to step off the beaten path to figure out what works for you."

She gave a soft snort then froze. Those words oddly reminded her of… _Malfoy_.

And even though she'd been able to dismiss thoughts of him the first time, Hermione found herself right back to thinking about what she had come there to ignore.

"I have tried to create my own potion, but I've never successfully made something from nothing. Every combination I've researched and attempted has failed. It's been an incredibly frustrating process."

"That's why you're struggling. You think everything has to be planned before you even begin, but, in actuality, all you need to do is _start_. Throw something together, see if it works. You might not create what you intended, perhaps you may create something greater, but if you fail, you try again and use the knowledge of your experience."

"I understand that, I do, but I'm realising that perhaps creating potions isn't something I'm very good at."

"I've never known you to be someone who gives up on anything, Hermione. Have you considered taking the responsibility off your own shoulders and asking for help."

"My experts say—"

"Forget about the experts. What do _you_ think?"

"I… I think it can be done. No, I _know_ it can be done. I have the ingredients. I'm just trying to find the right arrangement." She sighed. "I think I need help but—"

"You're too used to going at it alone?"

"Yes."

"You're alone because you choose to be."

More familiar words she'd thought of on a different day, during a different circumstance, about a different man. She felt sick all over again and her internal war must have been written on her features because Kingsley's expression edged towards concern.

"You look troubled, Hermione. Exhausted, as well."

Hermione was both of those things and more—all at the same time. She was currently at the point of exhaustion where she found herself bursting with false energy.

"I haven't slept," she confessed. "I did some light organising this morning."

Kingsley paused, his teacup close to his mouth. He gave her an inquiring look. "Light?"

"Mostly."

He continued sipping his tea. "I won't repeat what I'm certain you hear regularly from your friends, but your seams are unravelling. How much are you sleeping?"

"I can't even answer that." On average, it was a functional amount of sleep, but early mornings and late nights made weekends harder. "Five hours… maybe?"

"Sounds stressful. Long bouts of it aren't good for you."

"I know." She took a deep breath. "I have a problem."

"Have you isolated it?"

"To be honest, I haven't. I fear I may have _multiple_ problems."

"Perhaps you should separate them from each other, think about each independently, and sort through them that way." Placing his teacup on the saucer, Kingsley leaned back, arms folded. "Or perhaps your problems are ones that can't be sorted with deep thinking. Might they be… emotionally influenced?"

Hermione chuckled ruefully, which made him tilt his head slightly to the side. His dark eyes looked patient, understanding. She sipped her tea and stared at the table. It looked hand-carved. When she glanced up at Kingsley again, he was still waiting for her to start talking. Hermione sighed deeply.

"I had an argument with someone."

"Must have been _quite_ the argument if it's weighing so heavily on you."

"It was. My head hurts just thinking about it." She scrunched her face up, rubbing the side of her stiff neck. "There are more grey areas than I'd like. I said a lot of things I meant, but it's the things I didn't mean that make it difficult for me to stomach."

"And how do you _feel?"_

"Anxious mainly, but—"

" _Guilty_?"

There that word was again. A thought broke through unbidden, tearing a small rift and allowing the emotion access. It travelled where it pleased, filling her head with flashes of words and accusations and regret. _So_ much of it. _Too much of it._ The crack was widening, growing beyond her ability to patch it up.

All she could do was confess.

" _Yes._ "

_So much guilt._

For several moments, Kingsley said nothing. Hermione toyed with the hem of her shirt, processing her confession and bracing herself for whatever he might say next.

"Being human, we often look at others through the tunnel vision of our own life experience, which can lead to misunderstandings." His voice was deep and resonant, and Hermione listened carefully for every word spoken between the lines. "People are more similar than dissimilar, you know this, but sometimes we get so caught up in ourselves and the situations and circumstances we find ourselves in that we need a reminder. I know this is something you have been working on."

He gave her a pointed look that made Hermione turn her head towards the living room with his eclectic paintings on the wall.

"I have," she said. "But some days are better than others. Lately, I've been failing." She let out a dry chuckle. "Pretty miserably." Focused on Scorpius when there was more….

"Life is a classroom. People, circumstances, and experience are our teachers. Sometimes it takes more than one lesson to get it right, and that is perfectly acceptable. We learn best when we find different avenues of arriving at the same answer."

Hermione peered across the table at him.

"I also think it's important to remember that we all have our own unique backgrounds, lives, and things we struggle with. We fight our own battles in our own ways with our own weapons. Inevitably, at some points, we will fight with the wrong weapon. Is that the best course of action?"

"No," Hermione answered quickly. "Of course not."

He raised a finger as he made his point. " _Ah_ , but that's always a matter of your perception. Your idea of an incorrect weapon might be just the thing needed to win. Perception is based on experience, intuition, and cognition—factors that make us unique as people. Just as I can't expect you to replicate the meal you just ate with no recipe, you can't expect someone with no experience to handle a situation perfectly. To grow is to change and to change is to learn and discover a way that works for you."

Hermione allowed the words to marinate. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. "If you don't mind me asking, how were you raised?"

"By my father, mainly, as my mother died in childbirth." He sipped his tea and inhaled the peppermint slowly. "Against my grandparents wishes, he did not allow for his marriage to be arranged for the second time as he didn't think he would be as lucky as he had been with my mother. Love in pureblood marriages is not a common thing, but it is not impossible either. Though he broke from that lifestyle. My father taught me that culture is learned, not innate. It is a derivative of one's social environment rather than one's blood. Because of how I was raised, I never subscribed to the pureblood way of life, despite being one myself, but that doesn't make me understand it any less. I was taught certain aspects while others were left behind."

Before Hermione could inquire more, Kingsley checked his watch and stood up.

"Ah, the bees should be waking up soon." He nodded at her attire. "You should change if you want to help. There's a spare suit in the guest room."

Actually, she had no intention of helping or staying any longer than she already had.

"I'm rather tired."

"Will you be able to turn your mind off long enough to sleep?"

The look on her face was clearly answer enough.

"Go on. We'll take care of the bees together. Perhaps they will ease your mind." And Kingsley gestured for her to go and off she went.

Ten minutes later, Hermione found herself in a white beekeeping suit, gloves, and a hat with a net that guarded her face. Kingsley was waiting for her out back, and when she exited, she was immediately blown away by the changes that had occurred since her last visit.

Neville had been busy, taking her rough sketch and turning it into a work of art. Starting from the back door, a cobblestone path led out to the equally spaced hives surrounded by a circle with a colourful assortment of flowers and bushes. It wasn't finished yet, there was a part of the circle that still needed to be filled in, but that didn't matter.

"This is _stunning_."

"Yes. I do quite like it. Shall we?"

Hermione nodded and they started down the path together.

"Do you know why I keep bees?"

"No. I always thought it was because of the quiet."

"It's never quiet, but it _is_ challenging. I enjoy the solitude of it. The sound of bees around me is meditative. It keeps me connected to nature and the seasons."

As they approached, she could hear the buzzing—actually, it _did_ seem quite relaxing.

He removed the top of a hive and peered inside, quietly wishing them a good morning while several flew off in all directions. The buzzing grew louder, and the gentle breeze picked up, but still she could hear him when he spoke again.

"What intrigues me most is how much bees are like people. Every bee has its own personality, every hive has its own way in which they do things. Like a family. Mostly, they're altruistic and can be community-focused, but some bees work harder. Some are smarter. Some are stronger."

Kingsley gestured for her to come closer, to take a look inside the hive. Carefully, she did so.

The colony was beautiful in a complex way she couldn't describe, but found fascinating nonetheless.

" _Wow_. How do you get them to do that?"

He chuckled. "The main thing to know about bees is that you must let them work their way. They can't be trained. If you are good to them, they are good to you."

That sounded like a not so subtle dig at their current government.

"Beekeeping requires you to think beyond your own life and be a steward to thousands of living things that are equally as vital as they are dangerous."

They moved to the next hive where he repeated the same actions. He tsked at that one, noting that there would be a change in queens by the end of summer.

Hermione chuckled. "You're like a leader of bees."

"Not exactly. They have a queen. My job is to help the bees do what they want, which is for their families to thrive. I find this is more successful a paradigm than trying to make them do what _I_ want them to do, which is produce an abundance of honey. But it's not about me at the end of it all. It's about the bees. Their survival is essential to the survival of humankind. Not all plants are self-pollinating, as you know."

When they arrived at the third hive, it was quieter than the first two. Before she could ask why, and also inquire about the floating orbs of what looked like water, Kingsley was there with an answer as he worked to check the stores.

"It's June, which brings about a gap when colonies—before the summer rush—can starve due to either the lack of nectar or for other reasons I won't get into. This is when my job becomes important by making sure they continue to thrive, even during difficult times. This year has been easier with Neville planting nectar-producing plants first, but sometimes one hive struggles more than the others. Like this one. I've been feeding them sugar water to tide them over, but it appears they don't need it today."

"But isn't that what a leader does? You understand your role and use it to step in or hang back. You do whatever is needed to empower your people, help them develop, and reach their goals. You said it yourself, bees are like people, in a way. Your bees were struggling and you—as their keeper—had enough foresight to set up preventative measures. It's your job."

"No, it's my duty. One I accepted when I decided to be a beekeeper. It seems you are accepting a similar duty all your own. The restoration."

It was almost surprising—and also not—to learn the scope of Kingsley's knowledge. For someone so removed, he was still very much the centre of things.

"I've heard rumblings about your appearance in front of the Wizengamot."

Hermione was lucky for the netting covering her face, allowing her to keep her embarrassment private. "Perhaps I could have taken a more moderate approach."

"My comment wasn't to make you self-criticise or make you feel you need to temper yourself. It's merely a comment. If your intention was to make people take a harder look at the Wizengamot, congratulations, you've succeeded. The whispers are louder now. I hope you are aware of the target you've put on your back. You have enough of them already."

Hermione shuddered at the thought of Greyback. She kept the disturbance at the edge of her wards this morning to herself. "I'm aware people are watching me more now in public."

"And is that what you want?"

"I'll do what needs to be done." Hermione watched him work; he took such care handling the struggling hive. "I'm _tired_ of watching the corruption. It seems to close in more and more each day. What happened with Harry… what's next? More retaliatory murders while we all look the other way? The Wizengamot would have blamed Draco Malfoy for everything just to avoid handling the situation they put us in. They need to be held accountable. Every last one of them and the ones who stood idly by and let it happen."

"And then what, Hermione? If the restoration succeeds, what's next? Percy is working hard to convince me to run for Minster again. I suppose he intends to ask you to help lobby for his cause, too."

"Likely, but he hasn't had a moment to ask me. And what would you say if I did try?"

"I would give your proposal the consideration it deserves. That is not the sort of duty one should undertake lightly."

And on they went to the next hive.

When they got there, Hermione's frown was concealed behind her protective net, but Kingsley must have felt it.

"What is it?"

"I'll confess, I don't like that word much. _Duty_."

_Duty to family over self._

When Kingsley finished inspecting, he closed the top gently. "Why not? One does a duty with their heart and they never think about the consideration received for it because they believe they're doing a noble thing."

"And if that noble thing just perpetuates a dying culture that needs to step into the future?"

"It's not your job to decide. Cultures don't die, they evolve, adapt, sometimes slowly, sometimes drastically. The good aspects of any culture will be preserved by others who realise how precious they are. When the Greek civilisation declined, it was the Arabic world that helped to preserve the works of the Greek philosophers. They didn't change it to fit their own ideology. They maintained it because, despite being different, they saw the value."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully as they walked to the next colony: a larger one, he noted aloud, that needed to be upgraded as they were close to outgrowing their current home.

Apparently Kingsley wasn't finished giving her something to think about because when he finished, he turned to her. "No matter how much you dislike the pureblood way of life, there are some aspects of it that aren't completely abhorrent. You speak of them as a whole when the families you have been exposed to are all extreme opposites: the Weasleys and Blacks. Am I correct?"

"Yes, and I've also been exposed to the Malfoys, Greengrasses, and Parkinsons."

"Those three also tend to lean towards the traditional side of things along with the Blacks, but overall, most pureblood families fall somewhere between these two extremes and don't subscribe fully to the portions of the pureblood life you don't like. Not all of them arrange the marriages of their children, yet some choose to have their marriages arranged. Not all of them are rigid traditionalists and recovering bigots. And while they participate in society, many families have their own customs."

"Oh?"

He nodded, leading them a little farther out to the last two hives. They were newer and needed to get their bearings before joining the others.

Out there, the buzzing was even quieter.

"On a basic level, pureblood families are excellent at knowing their history, complicated or not, and most believe it should be preserved. It is, after all, a part of _all_ of our history. Documenting history shows where we come from, how we've changed as a magical society, and where we could still use some work. There's etiquette, which has largely been lost on the current generation, and not all of it is bad. It shows respect and provides a foundation for all later moral behaviour."

He had a point there, even though she didn't agree with Narcissa's extreme approach.

"Lastly, purebloods have a reverence for lineage and a strong sense of family that is often lost as we move towards a more individualistic society. My point is, rather than throw the entire apple in the rubbish because of a few soft spots, maybe it's not rotten to the core. Try to preserve what's left that's good."

Hermione remained silent, turning his words over repeatedly.

He had a valid point. Several of them, in fact. And she had a lot to weigh and consider.

"Oh, Neville and his students are here."

She turned around, and sure enough, there was a group of people approaching with pots in their hands and more floating on either side of them. They were all wearing beekeeper suits for safety, and they got right to work, preparing to fill in the last gap in the circular bee garden. Neville was the only one who stood out because he wasn't wearing a cover.

And he was waving with one hand, holding a flowering cactus in the other, and levitating several more around him.

When he got closer, he set the plants by his working students before approaching them.

Kingsley greeted him with a pat on the shoulder. "Neville, always a pleasure."

"Kingsley." Neville greeted him with a smile. "Hermione, how do you like what we've done?"

"It's spectacular."

"Why don't you both head to the porch while I check on the last colony?" Kingsley eyed the group of students with a soft sort of fondness. "I've set the wards so the bees won't mess with your students."

They both nodded. Neville ran over to give his students direction and Hermione walked on, but instead of heading to the porch, she stood at the start of the cobblestone path. She watched the students work while Kingsley examined the last colony, the youngest one, taking his time. In fact, when Neville joined her, Kingsley was still preoccupied.

"You truly did an incredible job," Hermione said.

"It was your sketch." Neville shrugged. "I think the most difficult thing was picking out the plants themselves. Kingsley wanted them to be low maintenance, but have a maximum benefit for the bees."

"Is that why you brought cactuses?"

"Bees do like flowering cacti, but it's not just that. I happen to think every flower garden should have one. Luna brought yours back at my request."

She'd always known it was one of Luna's strange gifts. "Why a cactus?"

"They're survivors in the face of adversity, especially when it seems impossible. Seemed fitting for you, and for him as well." Neville shrugged thoughtfully, and while Hermione watched her friend, she couldn't help but think that they weren't the only ones that stared down adversity and survived. Neville has been doing it all his life. "In some cultures, they represent endurance, tenacity, strength, and unconditional maternal love."

"You're feeling maternal love?" Hermione chuckled.

He barked out a laugh. "No, but are _you?_ I've seen your leaning cactus." He followed his statement with a smirk. "You care for one struggling cactus more than you do an entire garden. Not that you don't care about the rest, but that plant is different. More special. You're quite maternal over it."

"Maternal?" She rolled her eyes and smiled, folding her arms. "I'd have to have a child to feel that."

Neville made a small noise in the back of his throat.

"What?"

"I didn't know you had to be a parent to love like one."

* * *

The string quartet played a soothing piece Hermione didn't recognise, but it relaxed her enough for her eyes to momentarily droop.

She snapped them open when she realised where she was and the extent of the long day ahead of her.

Narcissa's appointment on her Magi-Scheduler involved much more than stopping by their home for a moment; it involved Hermione dressing for a society soirée. A mingling event for the upper echelon of society, the eligible witches and wizards were expected to socialise while their parents chatted over wine, hors d'oeuvres, and classical music from instruments spelled to play dulcet tones in the background.

This was something Sachs would have normally attended to monitor Narcissa, but she thought Hermione's presence would be more subtle. Narcissa's argument rested on Hermione being a recognisable figure whose attendance wouldn't draw any unnecessary suspicion.

Narcissa wasn't wrong, but her timing wasn't right either.

After all, Hermione _still_ hadn't slept.

The opportunity _had_ come, and she'd laid down in Kingsley's spare room for a change of scenery, but she'd ended up staring at the ceiling, replaying everything, forgetting nothing, and counting each moment as they passed her by.

Rest had not come, but the work was never-ending.

Which is how she found herself standing alone, but not noticeably so. Fresh-faced after an invigorating potion, she donned plain navy robes with her hair tamed into soft curls, held back to frame her face with a jewelled pin. Her look today was only the second time Narcissa had visibly approved of her appearance throughout the entire length of their association.

Hermione watched her surroundings.

The room was small, but spacious enough to host the amount of people in it. It was all very… proper. Ornate and lavish, it had hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, and marble pedestals about the four corners of the room. Crystal glasses and flawlessly arranged bouquets adorned each of the tables that formed a circle around the centre of the room where witches and wizards slowly walked and talked together in a very odd circular fashion.

From the looks of the spectators, those who walked were on display.

She was in no mood to participate so she observed Narcissa instead, who chatted politely with every person that approached her table. Hermione was close but not too close—a respectable distance of three tables away—watching for any signs of trouble, odd moments, or signals.

So far, so good.

The problem with her location was that it put her in the direct presence of available wizards who recognised Hermione for her name and didn't mind her pedigree. She didn't engage, nor did she participate in the shenanigans occurring around her. There were at least twenty-five wizards, and likely double that number of witches, but only _one_ had caught everyone's eye.

Tall. Detached. Striking. Austere.

Draco Malfoy.

Most of the bachelors looked on in varying degrees of envy while almost every available witch in the room fell over themselves to get Malfoy's attention. Only when he refused to engage would they slink off to another wizard, who would offer them an arm.

It was _easily_ the most—

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed her judgment aside.

She was _trying_.

Malfoy stood across the semi-crowded room, smartly dressed in crisp robes as dark as the expression on his face; one that made Narcissa's exasperation peak quickly as she glared at him repeatedly. His returning looks were _hilariously_ identical to Scorpius'.

Hermione kept an eye on him as he slowly made his way around the outer edges of the room, getting stopped by some women and not seeming to notice the looks he got from others. It was like he didn't see them. Or maybe he didn't care.

 _Women_.

They gravitated to him like a compass needle to magnetic north with their made-up faces, stunning robes, and demure smiles, all clamouring for a greeting, a look, a smile, a way in, _something_. But he never gave one. Malfoy continued on, exiting her peripheral when Hermione turned to make certain Narcissa was fine.

She didn't see him when she turned back and she took the chance to exhale deeply.

But someone spotted her.

A familiar face. Black hair. Bright blue eyes. Red lipstick. Black robes that stood out amongst the sea of summer colours.

It was the Future Mrs Malfoy from the book signing. _What was her name?_

"Hi," the woman greeted with a polite smile. It was very clear she didn't remember their first interaction, which was good. Somehow, a straight-haired Hermione Granger apparently wasn't memorable enough.

Except to—

"I just saw you across the room and you look as bored as I feel. I'm Olivia." She extended a manicured hand that Hermione automatically accepted. "It's _really_ a pleasure to meet you."

Hermione spent enough years attending events like these to know exactly how to carry herself, how to walk and speak and _blend_. She also had an idea when someone was on the prowl, hunting for something they didn't have.

 _Information_.

After taking a second to remember their first interaction, Hermione sorted what she remembered and smiled politely.

"Pleasure to meet you as well. I'm—"

"Hermione Granger, I know." Her smile brightened, then levelled into a show of perfect embarrassment that seemed… practised. "I can't believe I'm actually talking to you. It's honestly an honour."

It was difficult to determine if it was genuine so Hermione figured it was not.

Olivia looked around before leaning in. "Everyone is surprised to see you at a society event." Her attempts at sussing out gossip wasn't very subtle at all. The question she was trying to ask was painfully obvious: _Why are you here?_

"I had an invitation and nothing else to do on a Sunday afternoon."

Olivia stood next to her and filled her in on the gossip in the room, all while smiling at everyone who looked in their direction, clearly using Hermione as a prop. She didn't care, too busy sneaking surreptitious glances at her patient. All was still normal. When Olivia paused, noticing she had lost her captive audience, Hermione flashed a grin of fake interest.

Not that it truly mattered how she behaved. Hermione wouldn't see _her_ after today, but it was somewhat amusing to listen to the woman's stories of background society politics, drama, and the loads of dirt she had on everyone in the room: married already or not.

Olivia was apparently society's gossipmonger.

Well, that explained why she was always alone, trying to find new people to speak to. No one trusted her enough to speak freely around her.

"So, you went to school with Draco Malfoy."

"Yes," Hermione said as blandly as possible, glancing over the witch. "But you know that. Everyone does. And everyone _knows_ we weren't friendly in school. What is it that you're trying to figure out?"

"I'm just curious." Olivia shrugged. "Was he always like this? Cold and unfriendly? I've had two marriage dates scheduled with him. One he left early after barely exchanging a word with me, and the second he didn't show up to at all. I don't think I've ever seen him in public with a woman who wasn't already confirmed as a friend." She scanned the room. "I just wonder if he's either not interested in me or in women at all."

_The way he nipped her at her lower lip and pulled, none too gently, en—_

Hermione choked on air and Olivia patted her back until she recovered.

"Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine." Hermione cleared the last bit of hoarseness from her voice. "As far as your concerns, I suppose that will be something about him you'll have to learn for yourself, should you get the opportunity."

"Oh, I will." Olivia appeared confident, the gleam in her eyes almost predatory. "My parents are keen on the match and his mother is keen on _a_ match, but unfortunately it's too soon. In the meantime, I'm doing my best to stand out above the rest."

"By getting to know him?"

She laughed as if Hermione had told a joke. "Of course not, that happens _after_ marriage. The first step is to secure what you want then—"

"How do you know what you want?"

Olivia looked at her as if she were stupid. "Draco Malfoy is richer than every wizard in this room— _combined_. The fact that he's incredibly attractive makes the battle to win him all the harder, but _so_ worth it."

Hermione's eyes threatened to roll into her skull. By some miracle, they didn't.

"I've watched everyone throw themselves at him today, but after our marriage date, I've realised that won't work."

"Oh?" _Now_ Olivia had her curiosity.

"He's not like all these other wizards. He's been married before and has certain _expectations_ , I imagine" Olivia misread Hermione's expression and continued on as if she hadn't already lost interest. "Every pureblood man is raised to expect a wife that will do everything to make life easy for him. He's had that once. Now I expect he'll want it again and _better_ this time."

An ember of irritation ignited in Astoria's defence.

"His next wife would need to be attractive and well groomed, proper and knowledgeable, but not _too_ much. No man wants a wife to prove they are smarter than him. They want a loyal and humble woman who will let them lead. It really is that simple. I fit all of these things, I just need _him_ to see it."

"If you have to _force_ someone to see your worth—" Hermione changed her mind. "I don't understand why everyone is after someone who _clearly_ isn't interested."

"Stability, wealth, and social standing, to name a few." Olivia listed off her answer by holding up three fingers. "It doesn't matter if Draco _wants_ to remarry, he _will_ because that is expected of him. It's his duty to his family and Malfoys take that more seriously than most."

That much she already knew.

"Besides, his mother was practically a queen in society in France and is here, as well. His future wife will be groomed to inherit her status and all the benefits that come with it. I—"

"And what about his son?" Hermione now wondered where Scorpius would fall into the grand scheme of things. Narcissa was already pushing the duty on Malfoy's future wife. "Does anyone know about him?"

"People talk, of course, but he's not been seen in public in _years_." Olivia shrugged. "I'm certain Narcissa has everything lined up. It shouldn't be too hard to step in once we're married."

"You seem… confident."

"I am if I _really_ get his attention and—" Olivia gasped and immediately straightened, running a quick hand down her robes to make certain she was presentable. "He's coming this way right now."

Hermione looked, and sure enough, Malfoy was approaching, looking perfectly blank and aloof. And _that_ was her cue to leave. Their fiasco of a fight was still fresh on her mind and there was a very real possibility that it could happen again. This time in public. Hermione started to excuse herself, but Olivia's arm twisted around hers, holding her in place.

"Stay with me," the witch begged. "Maybe he'll speak to me if he sees you."

Doubtful, considering the way they'd stabbed each other with verbal carving knives last night, but Olivia wasn't accepting no for an answer. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised or offended if he turned in another direction upon seeing her. She wouldn't have been shocked if he glared hot daggers at her, but he did nothing of the sort.

Hermione was stunned into speechlessness when Malfoy stopped a respectable distance in front of them.

One that made no mistake that it had been his intention to do so all along.

It seemed that all of Olivia's tact flew out the window. "Do you remember me, Draco?"

"No." Malfoy gave her a single, cursory look. "Should I?"

Her smile died like a flame doused in water. Hermione inwardly cringed.

" _Granger._ "

One word and her heart started pounding, not out of excitement. She was _nervous_. It coursed through her veins and made her shift on her feet. One look was enough for Hermione to avert her eyes. His shoulders were straight and so were his feet, Hermione looked from one to the other.

" _Malfoy_." She bravely lifted her eyes to his. "How can I help you?"

He cut his eyes at Olivia until she curtsied perfectly and excused herself, looking back at them twice in confusion, then once more with a small frown on her face and calculation in her eyes. There was no formula for her to solve. At least not between them. Perhaps Olivia had her own calculations to work through. Still, Hermione was sad to see her go. She needed the buffer the other witch's presence would have provided.

Truly.

Now she and Draco were standing in front of each other, not speaking, and she looked everywhere except at him. First, at his mother, who was delicately placing her hand in an older witch's in greeting with a practiced smile on her face. Then, at her shoes. When she rounded back to Malfoy, she noticed his jaw was tight, his gaze critical. If at all possible, Malfoy stood straighter, his guard up as high as hers.

It was awkward. Miserably so because there were words she needed to say that she hadn't prepared for. Now they were bouncing around in her head, jumbled and twisted and out of order. The potion she'd taken to remain alert might have made her feel awake, but Hermione was tired.

 _Weary_.

All the way down to her bones.

"I've been advised that we should have a repeat of our previous conversation." Malfoy cleared his throat, moving his hands from his side to clasp them behind his back. "Preferably without arguing or throwing insults and accusations."

Hermione looked up sharply. " _Advised_?"

 _That_ was a very specific word. Her mind tried to go the distance, attempting to analyse it, but she was exhausted—mentally _and_ physically. No potion in the world would help that. Only sleep.

If she could manage it.

"Yes, advised." Malfoy looked away. "For over an hour. _Loudly._ "

 _Loudly?_ She wondered who had been in his ear. Literally, it seemed. Clearly it was someone he trusted. Even though that list was short, Hermione struggled to chase the crumbs of clues to an answer. She inhaled every shred of patience she needed and exhaled one cleansing breath, pinching the bridge of her nose to give her the strength to get through this conversation.

"Malfoy, I haven't slept enough to have the mental capacity for another one o—"

"Walk with me."

The request was as cautious as his words, and not _at all_ what Hermione had expected. She knew her expression openly displayed her shock, judging from the way his jaw ticked with a very tension. He was _irritated_.

"It's not—" Hermione bit her bottom lip to avoid saying yet another wrong thing. "People track your every move, you know. We don't need _more_ attention, and the very last thing _I_ want is to be pulled into the tornado of marriage rumours involving _you_."

"People always talk. They have little else to do except schmooze, manipulate, and clamour their way to the top." He looked around in distaste. "Like crabs in a bucket."

They would never make it out before someone pulled them back down.

Poetic in a way that spoke to the societal hierarchy.

"I care little about what is said about me or the attention my presence garners." Malfoy didn't move, but he felt closer, his voice low enough for her alone to hear. "It's inconsequential and I have better things to do with my time than combat rumours."

"That's nice for you, but—"

"Having _said_ that." Malfoy actually took a step forward that time. It was a small one, which she immediately followed with a step back, regaining the distance. "Since you're concerned, I'm certain my mother will snuff out any inklings of a rumour the moment it reaches her ears. It would happen quickly, I imagine. She's excellent at diversion, talented at making people see what she wants, and has a knack for creating the perfect picture. An illusion, if you will."

It didn't sound like a compliment.

Malfoy made a stiff gesture for her to join him, but didn't offer his arm like most of the other wizards. No, his hand rejoined the other behind his back. Hermione had a feeling they were going to stand there awkwardly until she agreed, so she swallowed the last of her argument and took the first steps.

She glanced over at Narcissa, who was listening intensely to a wizard Hermione didn't recognise. All was still well with her.

Their first tentative steps brought them into the orbit of the others circling the room. Mouths moved as they conversed under privacy charms set to activate the moment they crossed the invisible line. The pace Malfoy set was as leisurely as a stroll in the park on a spring day, but the unease made each of Hermione's steps feel like she was walking on a tightrope.

One misstep and she would be in a free fall.

Hermione folded her arms at the same time Malfoy brought his hands to his side. She looked out at the spectators. When people started whispering, she lowered her gaze to the floor, counting each step as if doing so might somehow help her arrive at an answer for how she was ever going to get through this.

"You're quiet."

"I think we can both agree that might be for the best." Hermione tried to ignore the attention as _more_ people were beginning to take notice, some pointing in their direction. She almost went back to step counting, but found herself looking at Malfoy instead. "I think it's wise if we don't have this conversation in public."

"Agreed." He maintained his steady gaze on whatever distant point he was focused on. "And not today. We're likely to relapse."

Well, that was true.

"Then why did you approach me?"

"To discuss scheduling."

It sounded like a lie, but also perfectly reasonable for a man like Draco Malfoy. Hermione watched for any hint of falsities until she realised she didn't even know if he had a tell.

_Strange._

The idea of him being dishonest hadn't once crossed her mind.

"Rather than approach me in public, you could have set an appointment in my Magi-Scheduler."

"True."

They continued on, walking side by side, Hermione keenly aware of both the growing scrutiny and an apathetic Malfoy, unsure of which required her attention more. Seconds expanded to minutes as the silence stretched. It wasn't long before they concluded their first revolution of the room, passing his mother, who had her back turned and was speaking to another couple. Malfoy continued walking and she remained at his side, not so patiently waiting.

Hermione was never good at holding her peace.

"What I said about Astoria was inexcusable." Her words escaped in a rush, but she needed to get it out. "I was furious at you and _completely_ wrong. I'm sorry."

Though it was out, the apology didn't completely assuage her guilt.

But it was a start.

"I wasn't—"

A wispy patronus floated in their direction before hovering next to Malfoy, who appeared extremely irritated by the interruption. "Excuse me."

She could have walked on and left him—had half the mind to, really—but she didn't, looking on as he stepped off the track to listen to the message while she waited, avoiding the blatant stares. People were whispering now. When the message disappeared and Malfoy turned back to her, Hermione already knew the walk was over.

"There's been a security breach at the Ministry."

Her eyes went wide. "What sort—"

"I'll find out when I get there. It's already been handled, but Hestia is bringing us in for a briefing." He looked over her head then back. "I'll call for security to escort my mother home after this. Don't let her convince them otherwise."

"I won't." Their eyes held for a heartbeat, and then the moment was gone. "You should go."

The nod Malfoy gave was stiff as he turned to leave. Hermione watched him go, staring for several more seconds after he disappeared from sight. A passing pair's presence—and equally curious looks—brought her back to reality.

She was in the middle of the room.

With nearly every eye on her.

_Shite._

Hermione turned to make a hasty exit for a table and found herself bracing for another encounter. Narcissa was gliding in her direction, which instantly put her on edge. Nowhere to go, Hermione prepared herself. Narcissa carried herself like a queen, her posture was perfect as she kept her head high, hands at her side. She gave away nothing.

Small in stature but larger than life.

"Where has Draco gone off to?"

"There was a breach at the Ministry. Security will be here to escort you home after the event."

"Very well."

Narcissa made a gesture for her to continue walking, only now by the older witch's side. There was no room for argument or debate. When she offered an arm, Hermione didn't dare refuse. At least not in public.

So, they walked.

The silence this time was different—less awkward but more contemplative.

Like her son, Narcissa did little without reason. There was a purpose for this walk and Hermione found herself trying to ascertain the meaning. She chanced a look over at Narcissa and found her politely nodding at everyone who looked in their direction.

"Considering Draco's deep-seated hatred for society events, I am surprised he attended at all. However, I am glad he at least walked with _someone_ today. People were beginning to speculate about his lack of interest."

Hermione could tell when someone was after information, so wisely, she said nothing at all.

* * *

_**June 27, 2011** _

Scorpius was _not_ having a good Monday, which meant neither was anyone else. Unlike Narcissa, who was just as quiet and moody, Hermione at least understood what was wrong with him. After all, the source of his discontent was closed up in his father's office with a charm she couldn't break.

Naturally, Hermione had tried— _several_ times with a hopeful Scorpius standing beside her. Hermione attempted every charm she knew, eager to rescue the cactus. But, in the end, nothing had worked; the locking charm was likely tied to the wards of the house. They simply didn't allow her in. And while that frustrated the hell out of her, it also made Scorpius' mood rapidly descend.

It didn't help that Malfoy hadn't left a note that morning.

Likely an honest mistake. Narcissa had informed Hermione that Malfoy had not returned home since yesterday, but that mistake was impactful.

_Painfully so._

Scorpius barely ate. There were no secret smiles. No quiet yet pleased looks. He wasn't signing at all—even _before_ Narcissa came in for breakfast. He looked too grave. Sad. Pale. And on the verge of tears. For the first time, he'd shut Hermione out, too. She was at a loss for how to comfort him and pushing him wasn't the answer.

Narcissa had pushed, in her own way—which already wasn't the _best_ —but her attempt had earned her a look so empty it made Hermione wince. When she left for her room, Hermione turned her chair towards Scorpius and let him take the lead. She didn't guide him. Just let him go where he pleased.

"Can I help?"

After much hesitation, Scorpius ended up at her side.

He just leaned against her, not expecting anything in return when Hermione wanted nothing more than to give him everything.

But she didn't, only coiled an arm around him and held on. Scorpius melted into her, and the half embrace quickly turned into a full one. He held tight to her cardigan. And to her. There were no tears, but Scorpius did tuck his head in the crook of her neck. There was a moment when he touched the end of her hair but quickly let it go as if the texture was too unfamiliar.

By the time Catherine arrived to escort him to class, he was slow to let go. But eventually he did. He did not accept her offered hand, walking right past her as Catherine cringed and gave Hermione a worried look that required no words.

"Go easy on him today."

"Of course."

Hermione found herself more determined than ever to sort the matter.

Moved it to the top of her to-do list. Checked her calendar. Set a date.

She waited for a few minutes before she returned downstairs and found herself with the task of contending with _another_ moody Malfoy. This one had _also_ abruptly decided that she wasn't doing anything scheduled that day.

Nor was Narcissa accepting any arguments from Sachs.

In the room just off the living area, using privacy charms, Hermione and Sachs exchanged words about their patient currently sitting at the table, staring blankly ahead. Hermione frowned at the results of her diagnostic testing.

They _looked_ normal.

Actually, they looked better than they had in _weeks_.

Hermione found herself grappling to figure out what was wrong. Perhaps it was time to contact Charles for another consultation and some advice. "What were her plans for the day?"

"As far as I know, she was to attend a charity lunch. She refuses. She's been in a state all morning, hence her tone with Scorpius. She needs to go, but not like that."

She wasn't acting like the Narcissa Malfoy the public knew and adored, that much was true.

"I'll see if she's up to gardening or perhaps a casual walk."

"Doubtful."

In the end, Sachs was right.

Narcissa didn't want to do much of anything outside of sitting inside the glass walls of Hermione's conservatory and watching the storm clouds roll in. Sachs had come along, looking at the climbing roses while their patient drank water and glanced around. She watched Narcissa bristle, as if confronted by an upsetting thought, before she turned back to the world outside her window.

Hermione took the seat next to her. "Looks like there will be rain."

Weather was the best conversation starter that Hermione could think of, and talking was the only way she could begin to suss out the problem. However, Narcissa has _opinions_ , judging from the side-long glance she received.

"Must we chat about trivial topics that neither you nor I care about?" She sipped her water. "Yes, it looks like rain, Miss Granger. Your plants likely need it thanks to your insufficient watering habits."

"You're especially moody today." Hermione had been her Healer long enough to know when her patient meant something and when she didn't. She was being surly to hide how she really felt. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Is there something you need from me?"

"No, you are doing your job _exceedingly_ well."

There was a bite to her words Hermione hadn't expected. But she didn't have to push for the answers Narcissa gave willingly.

"You are doing your job so well, in fact, that this is the first day I haven't seen him."

_Him?_

She froze.

_Him._

_Lucius._

Or her hallucinations of him.

It wasn't listlessness or depression that gripped her like an unforgiving tide; it was _sadness._ But rather than fight against the current, Narcissa was letting it pull her out to sea. She was lost and drowning. And now that she couldn't see him…

It scratched at her empathy.

Hermione stayed Narcissa's shaking hand, not because of her disease, but because she was close to breaking herself. "I won't pretend to know what you're going through."

"I know what you are thinking." Narcissa swatted her hand away like an annoying bug. "Finding comfort in hallucinations is illogical at best, but…" She looked over at the climbing roses. "It is nice not to be alone. I know what you must think of him. It is what everyone thinks of—"

"I don't." Fresh on her mind from her conversation with Kingsley, the topic made Hermione sigh. "It's not my place to judge you for who you love, but what I will say is you aren't alone."

"Are you going to say that I have you, Sachs, and Keating? Because if you are, spare me the platitudes. I do not need them."

"I would never, trust me. I was more talking about your family… and your sister."

The witch's face hardened like old wood, polished and smoothed. "Andromeda made it clear exactly how she felt when she failed to show up for tea at Grimmauld Place."

Hermione bit the inside of her lip as a slow wave of understanding rolled through her. She could easily avoid it, but found she simply couldn't ignore the parallels between her own situation and Narcissa's—couldn't avoid the opportunity for transparency, authenticity and decency. _She couldn't pass up the opportunity to make that connection._ Hermione cleared her throat and opened herself up for a moment. Just long enough to make her point.

"I modified my parents' memories and made them forget they ever had a daughter. I was scared they would be killed because of me, so I just… did what I thought was right. After the war, it took me months to find them in Australia, but I did it." Hermione took a measured breath. "When I reversed the memory charm, everything fell apart. They felt betrayed because I swore I would never use magic on anyone who couldn't defend themselves, which was exactly what I did."

"To protect them. Surely they understand what—"

"They say they've forgiven me and they understand, but it doesn't mean that they've forgotten what I did. The same may be true for Andromeda, I don't know, but the divide between you two may not be as great as you think. I'm learning that with my dad."

"And your mother?" Narcissa held her water glass with both hands on her lap.

"We're still trying to… sort some things." Hermione rolled her shoulders, wincing as she searched for the right words to describe her non-verbal interactions. "My mother and I don't agree on much, we're too much alike, but I always make an effort to let them know I care. Perhaps they will truly forgive me one day. I'm not under the impression things will be back to how they were before, but hopefully we can build something new. Something that isn't on unsteady ground."

It was the hope that had carried her through years of awkward dinners and stilted conversation.

But also the bridge she was building to her father.

"As it pertains to you and Andromeda, what I'm saying is don't give up after one failure. Maybe she wasn't ready. Maybe something happened that made her think you weren't either."

Narcissa said nothing for several long minutes, finishing her water as she watched the distant sky.

"How many failures did it take for you to succeed?"

Hermione briefly wondered if the question was about more than her sister.

"If you want the truth, I'm… I'm still counting." She shook what felt like the hundredth thought from her mind, refocusing despite those pesky emotions that wouldn't subside. "Forgiveness isn't as clean cut as most who need forgiving would like to think. It's not an easy process because we often forget that we have to also forgive ourselves—which is always a good place to start."

Narcissa's eyes were distant, cool. "I'd like to take a walk."

Sachs recoiled from her spot near the Touch Me Not. "But it's about to storm."

"I don't care."

They walked in the pasture behind her house, heading towards the forest, while Sachs stayed behind. The wind was gusting as the clouds continued to tumble in ahead of the storm. By the time they passed Al's marker, the sky had darkened to shades of blue and grey. The storm had yet to arrive, but it was coming. And yet, Narcissa didn't seem to notice.

Or care.

Abruptly, Narcissa stopped and turned to face her, which made Hermione halt mid-step, feeling her clothes and hair blow into the wind as she struggled to keep the latter from blocking her vision. Narcissa's mouth was pursed when she asked the question she had carried from the house.

"Have you told my sister anything?"

"That would be in violation of the Patient-Healer Confidentiality Agreement we both signed, as well as the oath I made when I became a Healer. So, no. I have not."

Hermione's eyes fell on the _true_ Narcissa Malfoy. Not the one the public saw day in and day out.

Respect swelled in her chest at the sight.

Narcissa looked less than perfect in her long, light grey robe: pale features, bright blue eyes, windblown blonde hair. Her slight curls danced in the breeze. She seemed almost ethereal against the grey and green backdrop of sky and nature around them. Her eyes, full of memory and melancholy alike, gazed past Hermione. There was a weightless quality to her in this setting, not so easily scared by the prospect of death, but also a timelessness that _was_.

For the very first time, Narcissa didn't seem arrogant or invincible. She wasn't arguing or criticising Hermione for any myriad of reasons—from her liberal views to the way in which she carried herself. She wasn't trying to be the centre of everything.

No, she looked…

_Vulnerable._

Hermione knew that if she said the wrong thing, looked the wrong way, Narcissa would allow the moment to pass, let it fade into nothing. It made her more inclined to listen and less inclined to speak.

"Mortality is a funny thing." For the second time, they walked arm in arm. "I've tiptoed around the subject all my life, understanding in some part of my mind that people die, but never thinking it will happen to me, or to someone around me. The war, nearly losing Draco, _actually_ losing Lucius, and the threat we live under… that has all changed how I think."

Hermione glanced down, watching each measured step.

"Now that it is my turn, I find I am grasping at strings of logic that are too far away. Trying to prepare myself mentally for the truth has been the hardest. It has made me fight the reality of your presence every step of the way, despite the fact that I hired you."

"It can't be easy. None of this is."

"No, Miss Granger. It is not." Narcissa's confession was quiet. "I worry about everything. My family and legacy more than anything. I want to ensure their future, but I have not made the progress I would have expected by now."

"You still have time." The wind was at their back, blowing Hermione's curls over her shoulders. "You're maintaining."

"Yes, which is a testament to your treatment, despite how difficult I may have been." She looked ahead. "However, I feel my time dwindling. I find as I work on one problem, there are others that come into focus. I have… regrets that I have tried not to think about for _years_."

"Andromeda."

Thunder echoed the pain Narcissa had always done an excellent job of hiding, buried deep inside. "I realise I should not ask this of you. We have not always seen eye to eye, but I find that I trust you. In fact, I do not think I would trust a task like this to anyone else."

"What is it?"

Narcissa stopped and they faced each other in the coming storm.

"My sister… can you help me?"

Hermione reached for both of Narcissa's hands, the trembling against her palms solidified her response.

" _Of course."_

* * *

Hermione was patient, but not accustomed to waiting.

But she did just that long after Catherine sent a still-sulking Scorpius to bed at the end of a miserable day. He hadn't even wanted to draw or listen to Albus' letter. Hermione had Floo called Bill to tell Albus that Scorpius wasn't feeling well. After calming Al's visceral distress with distracting stories and a promise to talk tomorrow, Hermione waited for Malfoy to arrive until well after it became clear that tonight would be another that Malfoy slept in his office.

_Great._

She finally left for home, ready for bed, hoping she could sleep. Hermione began preparing a cup of chamomile tea; an attempt to loosen the tugging in her mind that kept her from rest.

Books, a soak in the bathtub, tea, and listening to the sound of rain.

Maybe all of that would help. It hadn't worked the previous night, but hope ran eternal. The tea was steeping when her Floo burst to life. Daphne stepped out, carefully holding an incredibly fussy baby Halia, who was bundled in the knitted blanket gifted to her by Mrs Weasley.

Surprised to see her so late, Hermione abandoned her tea and washed her hands.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing here?" She dried her hands on a towel. "You and Halia should be at home resting."

"We're in the middle of a new routine of screaming fits and I thought we could use a change of scenery." Daphne rocked her daughter, shushing her gently. "Just so Dean could get some rest. I figured you might be up."

Hermione was prepared to tell her that she was getting ready for bed, but the combination of Halia's crying and the haggard look on Daphne's face made her reconsider. She approached the new mother, who was sitting on her sofa and staring at her daughter with loving eyes weighted down with exhaustion.

"When's the last time you slept?" Hermione peered at the three-week-old with dark hair and olive skin; her cheeks were tinted red. She was the perfect blend of her parents. Hermione was so focused on her task of clinically examining Halia that she didn't recognise that she was being inspected as well.

Until she glanced up to find eyes on her.

"In the last two nights, how many hours have _you_ slept, Hermione?"

"I've taken three vials of Invigoration Draught." There was no sense in lying. "Maybe three hours of sleep total."

" _Shite_."

"I've had a lot on my mind. Makes it difficult to rest." And because Hermione recognised all the signs of lack of sleep and knew a screaming baby likely made the act impossible, she asked, "You?"

"Halia's on day two of screaming from exactly ten to midnight, then she's fussy for most of the night. They say she has colic, but we found out, after the first dose, that she's allergic to the treatment potion." A look of stress passed over her features. "We're trying everything that's safe to give her, but…"

Until then, they had to wait and Halia had to suffer.

"I can look into it as well."

"I'll never say no, but you look exhausted. Here, hold her while I use the loo and make tea."

Hermione ended up with an armful of fussy baby. Warm and squirmy, one tiny gloved hand worked its way out of the swaddle. When Hermione laid her on the sofa to fix her swaddle, Halia snuffled, opening her eyes briefly before closing them.

There was a moment of silence. Then her lip quivered. And the screaming started again.

Her pitch was almost impressive.

"Oh, _there_." Hermione fixed her little lavender hat and snuggled her close to her chest as she got up carefully, making sure Halia's head was tucked just under her chin. When Daphne returned, she was pacing the room humming, allowing the constant vibrations to soothe the baby as she rubbed her back.

By the time Daphne started the kettle for tea, her daughter's fussing had diminished to hiccuping sighs and she had accepted the dummy. She seemed almost startled by the process, but the relief in her eyes was palpable. Hermione smiled and kept walking slowly, bouncing and soothing the baby until she dropped off to sleep.

Daphne opened every cabinet trying to find the tea. "Did you reorganise?"

" _Maybe_."

The look she received was almost wincing. "Did you make sad pie?"

" _No._ " She _had_ considered it. Blueberry and apple. "Let's uh… we should sit out in the conservatory."

It was storming now and the sound would help lull Halia without much effort. Daphne agreed and led the way with a teacup in her hand. They settled on the sofa, the room dim enough for them to enjoy the storm; it was beautiful in the way powerful forces often were.

Breathtaking. Untouchable and unknowable. _Dangerous._

Lightning briefly illuminated the world outside the glass walls, followed by the slow roll of thunder. Daphne offered to take the now sleeping baby, but Hermione decided to give her friend a break.

"I'm fine." She was comfortable anyway. Hermione looked down, watching Halia suck on the dummy in her sleep. Funny how holding a baby could make every other thing in her mind disappear. "She's just settled."

"Not sure how you're so good at that, but thank you."

"It's nothing. How's the tea?"

"Excellent." Daphne sipped her tea as they watched the storm. When she sighed, it sounded like relief. "I love it here."

So did she.

"How are you doing?"

"Outside of Halia's colic, we've been great." Daphne crossed her legs at the knees. "Dean has been phenomenal, always there to give me a chance to rest. I thought it was his turn tonight. He has two more weeks off before he goes back to Gringotts." She smiled softly, seeming to enjoy having her family at home. "Oh, I put your chamomile tea under a stasis charm, so you can drink it when you're ready."

"Thanks."

All was quiet. Daphne continued drinking her tea. Halia snuffled in her sleep. Hermione breathed.

The storm rolled on and everything was peaceful until—

"I know about your argument with Draco."

Hermione jolted, but wisely remained silent.

"I was bringing Scorpius back after his visit. No one was waiting for him when I arrived so I got him to bed and came down and caught the end."

Hermione could only imagine the things she'd heard. It made her feel even more ashamed.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that."

"I didn't hear much of anything because I was too busy ducking out of sight behind the sofa when you came storming in." They both chuckled dryly but it was stilted and hollow. "I'm just glad Scorpius wasn't there."

"So am I."

Daphne tilted her head to the side. "You really care about Scorpius, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

That was becoming easier and easier to admit. Daphne sighed and turned her attention towards the storm. Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder followed as rain continued to pelt the glass.

"He's changing."

Hermione glanced at her friend.

She shook her head ruefully with a hint of amusement. "For a second that night, I thought he was mouthing words, which is leaps and bounds above where he's been." Daphne eyed her, mouth pressed in a thin line. "You're the only variable that's different. Have you—"

"I haven't done anything special. I'm just present and I care about him. He makes it so easy."

"He does, doesn't he?" Daphne smiled softly. "He's— He reminds me of Astoria. _So much_. He _smiled_ when he saw Halia that night. I don't even think he realised he'd done it. I haven't seen him smile in—it's been _ages_. You might not think it's much, but it's _everything_."

"I know."

"My sister wanted more for him. _Better_. I have no control over making that happen, but I fought Narcissa about him until I was blue in the face. I _keep_ fighting. Theo and Pansy as well. But now I hear she's easing his schedule and allowing him free time. I can only credit you for that."

"I'm not certain what I said that was the catalyst."

"Who knows with Narcissa Malfoy, it could be a tactic for all I care. I'm not going to argue."

Hermione was quiet while she adjusted Halia on her chest. "What was Scorpius like before?"

"I visited whenever I could before they moved back, but with the way I work, it wasn't enough." She paused, running a hand through her hair and waiting for the thunder to pass. "He's always been a quiet and sensitive but happy child. More inclined to watch than speak. Inquisitive and creative. When she was well enough, Astoria tried to foster that, but when she wasn't, Narcissa… Well, Narcissa realised where she went wrong by spoiling Draco as badly as she did and overcorrected with Scorpius. She wants—"

"To make him strong enough to bear the weight of his name."

"Yes, but he's just a child and he needs to be treated like one. I've said this _so_ many times."

Hermione allowed the statement to hang in the air, unsure of what to say. Drawn to the sound of the rain hitting the glass roof, and the feel of Halia's breathing, she found the combination therapeutic. Soft. Relaxing enough to allow Hermione to focus, sliding through each option of what she could say only to realise it would be best if she said nothing at all.

"Draco—"

It was embarrassing how just his name disrupted her peace. It made her tense; a physical reaction that was just as mentally driven. That feeling had kept her awake the night after her fight. With the new thoughts provoked by Kingsley's words, everything started to slowly roll in like the rainstorm outside, ignited by a single trigger—his name. Similar to the lightning in the sky, it was unexpected and electric.

"Probably best if we don't discuss that argument."

"I know you're tired, but it's probably best that we do." Daphne gave her a stubborn glance over her teacup. Then she placed it on the coffee table. "He gave me the memory."

"How—" _Oh._

The person in his ear.

_Daphne._

"Draco isn't _like_ family to me, he _is_ family." There was no doubting the devotion in Daphne's eyes, the heavy emotions that rolled off her in dizzying waves. "I may not be as bold or as loud as Pansy when it comes to him, but I don't need to be for Draco to know that all he has to do is ask and I'll be there. It's what family does. I think that's why, on occasion, he confides in me."

_Good to know._

"He's paranoid as hell but Theo vetted you and your methods. He had _no_ right to take your file anyway or use it to call your credentials into question because of your past… issues. What happened to you doesn't give him the _right_ to throw that in your face the way he did. He also overreacted about the cactus."

"Did you—"

"After I saw the memory, I yelled at him for an hour straight."

Hermione shifted in her seat, chest uncomfortably tight. "Ah, you didn't—"

" _I did_. Because he was wrong." Daphne paused then smoothly shifted to a different trajectory, now focusing on Hermione. "But _you_ were wrong, too. What you said about Draco abandoning Scorpius, that's simply not true. I won't disagree with what you said about Astoria, I've expressed my opinion to you about that before, but you didn't have the right to throw that in his f—"

"I've already apologised to him for that."

"As you should have."

"And I apologise to you as well. You shouldn't have had to witness that." Halia turned her head, exhaling and getting more comfortable in Hermione's arms. But she slept on. "Daph—"

"I normally wouldn't intervene. I prefer to stay out of everything, but I've not seen Draco like _that_ in a very long time. Or _you_ , even. And while I question a lot of Draco's decisions, the one thing I'm _certain_ of is how much he _loves_ Scorpius. He has done—and _will_ do— _anything_ for him. It may not be the bold, expressive love you're used to seeing, but he _is_ devoted."

And there it was, in her face, the shades of grey and in-betweens.

"There's a lot that Draco doesn't understand about being a parent, things I am just beginning to learn. It wasn't like he had the opportunity to learn with Narcissa raising Scorpius so traditionally. And we all know he didn't have the best example. Lucius was… a difficult man. He loved Draco fiercely, but didn't express it until he was certain he was about to die."

Hermione winced at that being his last memory of his father.

"He's doing the best he can. Can he do better? Of course, but Draco's human and he's doing what he thinks is best. And right now, that's allowing Narcissa to handle his care until he's in a position where he can smoothly intervene. He's had the plan in works for _months_ and hoped the raid would resolve _one_ of his issues, but—"

"It was a disaster."

"I know. He was… upset about the delay." Daphne's tone hinted at something much deeper, but Hermione knew better than to pry. "Before Scorpius, Draco juggled everything: work, making sure my sister received the best care, his mother's demands, her whims, _and_ protecting them from the wrath of Death Eaters who believed them to be a traitor to their cause."

Likely why he'd quietly become an Auror.

"When Scorpius was born, things just got worse. Poisoning and kidnapping attempts, it's—" Daphne took a deep breath. "Scorpius has never known the danger he's been in. Astoria didn't either. Draco kept it all to himself to ease her mind."

And that explained the depth of his paranoia.

"My sister's decline intensified after his second birthday, which shifted his attention even further away from Scorpius. Then…"

Hermione shook her head, already knowing what she was going to say.

"Now, with his mother… I doubt he's had a moment to catch his breath long enough to sort his priorities."

"He's not involved in her care."

"You don't know Draco." Daphne's voice was grave. "He's very much involved in _everything_."

"They don't talk much. In fact, their relationship is—"

"Not the best, that much is true, but your relationship with your parents is just as complicated. It doesn't mean you love them any less."

When put in that context, Hermione found herself recalling Kingsley's words again— this time with a cringe.

_Perspective._

Learning the same lesson in a different way.

"Draco was hardly around, only at night and seldom at best. Scorpius has never been good with strangers—except you, actually. But with his father, he's always been… anxious and unsure."

Hermione nodded in understanding, having seen it herself, but it was more nerves than anything. Like wanting something so badly he didn't know how to handle being near it.

"It's been worse since Astoria died. Draco has always struggled to connect with him, but with Scorpius not speaking and my sister gone, Draco took a step back and kept his distance to ease his distress and help him adjust. He's just realising that was a mistake."

That explained him trying to wait around for Scorpius at breakfast.

The questions. His awkwardness.

_Everything._

Hermione's stomach turned with overwhelming discomfort.

"He's been trying to find a way to reach him." Daphne scooted closer and looked at her daughter's sleeping face. "Draco will never admit it, but I think he's jealous. You've done so much for Scorpius in so little time." She rested her hand on Halia's head. "Scorpius is a problem Draco has been trying to solve, but hasn't truly begun to focus on because he's too busy fighting off all the others."

And there were _many_.

"With Scorpius not talking and Narcissa insisting they continue the tradition of shaping him into a proper Malfoy, Draco won't get to know him until it's too late. And right now, even though I want him to, he doesn't have the capacity to step in. Not without help."

"If you all know this, why don't you help him?"

"Draco isn't exactly the most trusting of men." Daphne chuckled. "We've tried. All of us. Outside of visits, he won't accept anything he sees as charity."

"That's stupid."

"That's pride."

Hermione knew a lot about that. Hers was a bit wounded and had been pelted with guilt for two nights now—more so now as Daphne breathed colour and definition into the greys and in-betweens. A picture took shape and she realised all the parts she had gotten wrong. And while Hermione wasn't normally afraid of admitting her faults, there was something about apologising to Draco Malfoy that made her cringe to the point of physical pain.

And yet…

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel sorry for him. In fact, if Draco knew that I'd told you this much, he would make me rue the day." Daphne ran a hand through her hair. "But—"

"Would he stop you from seeing Sco—"

"He would _never_." She took a deep breath, drawing her shoulders back, then pushed them forward as she exhaled. "Draco's… He's cynical and apathetic—well, at least about anything that _doesn't_ pertain to Scorpius. He's a product of the society his mother thrives in. He is so much more than he seems, but don't _ever_ feel sorry for him, he'll _punish_ you for it."

"Why do you say that?"

"He _despises_ sympathy in any form. He doesn't believe it to be genuine. He trusts nothing except himself, and those trust issues have led to the construction of a large, self-imposed wall."

"I'm aware." _The one with the crack._

"Not even those of us who know him best have been able to get through to him as of late. He's just…" Daphne looked out at the storm. "I had Dean and Pansy to help me while I grieved Astoria and I _still_ have moments where I struggle. I'll always have moments when it hits me all over again that she's just… _gone_. Draco has dealt with this on his own, Occluding and just getting through, and struggling just to hold his head above water."

_Grief._

It had many faces, nuances and layers. Wounds buried deep. Cracks only few could see. Pain that time could dull but never completely heal.

"It's difficult to let people see your wounds." Daphne looked directly at her. The truth in her words made Hermione tense uncomfortably. "Probably more so for Draco because he's used to people pretending and placating him, used to people only caring about him for their own benefit—especially now that Narcissa is intent on arranging his next marriage." Daphne sighed. "He'd rather have nothing than accept anything that's not real. I can't say that I blame him, given everything that's happened."

That sounded… cryptic.

"Purebloods from more traditional families marry for a myriad of reasons, but romance and love aren't always part of the equation families use to calculate and draw contracts for their children's marriage."

"I understand that." Hermione chose her next words carefully. "But you rebelled."

"And my sister paid the price." Tears welled in Daphne's eyes. "She knew she wouldn't live a full life and sacrificed her own happiness for mine."

Hermione adjusted in her seat, jostling Halia a bit, but she slept on, not noticing anything. She rubbed her back as she asked, "How did she do that?"

Daphne got up and went to the window, staring out at the storm, watching the shadows of the trees sway in the wind during the brief flashes of lightning. She said nothing for a long enough time that Hermione had to make further adjustments to Halia's positioning, which made the baby protest with a soft whine before accepting it.

Finally, when Hermione was preparing to fill the silence with words, Daphne spoke. "Draco and I were betrothed as soon as he was exonerated. His parents needed our good reputation and _we_ needed their money. My parents lost everything after the economy went to shite after the war, but Dean and I…" She glanced over her shoulder just in time to miss the surprised look on Hermione's face that she'd only just schooled into one of dignified neutrality.

"I had _no_ idea."

The parallels between her and Andromeda were astounding, their bond made so much more sense. They _burned_ for love and lived with deep guilt over their sisters paying the lifelong price for the consequences of their actions.

"No one knows." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Draco and I spoke after we found out. The last thing either of us wanted to do was marry, so before they could announce it, Dean and I eloped. Draco served as a witness. Our families—" She chuckled darkly. "It wasn't received well."

Hermione could only imagine.

"But then Lucius was killed, the Manor burned, they fled to France, and everything just _stopped_ until the year Narcissa's book came out and she regained her standing in society. She came seeking financial compensation from my family due to the broken contract, as was her right. What she demanded, my parents couldn't afford, so my sister offered herself to satisfy the debt. Narcissa didn't like the idea because Astoria was sick, but she said she would allow it if Draco agreed. She never thought he would, but… he did."

Hermione was speechless.

"Did she love him?"

"Astoria was dutiful as any Malfoy wife should be, as well as she _could_ be, given her illness, but her heart… They married knowing _exactly_ where they stood with each other."

That sounded miserable.

For both of them.

And lonely on so many levels Hermione had been privileged not to have experienced before. Nor would she ever.

"They did the best they could. Draco was… not in a good place. He was full of internalised anger and bitterness. His father dying turned him cold and distant, and Narcissa forcing his hand about marrying during her single-minded quest to rebuild their legacy only made things worse. He felt…"

Daphne fell silent and another roll of thunder passed by.

"Astoria tended to him, saw him through each of his dark days until they became few and far between. Draco, meanwhile, began devoting time to learning about her blood illness, studying her treatment plan to the point where he could pick out the flaws in it, which led to him brewing medicinal potions that were tailored specifically to her, much like yours are for Narcissa."

Daphne paused for a moment, struggling with each word.

"He could have let her die and been free again, but Draco… he brought her from the brink so many times… until his efforts stopped working. Even then, she had to tell him to stop. To let her go."

Daphne gripped her shirt with both hands while Hermione focused on Halia's breathing and tried to ignore the emotions swelling within her.

There were no words.

"She knew him better than any of us, understood him, _loved_ him. Just… not romantically."

Hermione's heart stopped. "But—"

"Not all love is romantic." Daphne's voice was as miserable as Hermione felt. "I know my sister felt guilty for not being able to muster feelings for him. Draco is a lonely man, always has been, even when we were children. He hides it behind a facade, but the older he gets, the more it seeps through the cracks."

Hermione shut her eyes for a moment. "Did she try?"

"Yes, but Draco always knew when she was pretending."

The same way he could tell when all the women in society were when they approached him.

"But she also knew how badly he needed that genuine connection…"

Real emotions could not be forced into existence; Hermione knew that all too well.

"Did he…"

"No."

"And Scorpius?"

Hermione had heard of contracts that involved siring children.

Daphne turned to the plant, allowing her finger to run up the spine of the Touch Me Not. "Draco's potions aside, we all knew my sister wouldn't live past thirty, but Astoria wanted to be a mother. She wanted to leave behind someone who would love Draco unconditionally… even though the risk was high. Having Scorpius was her choice. Probably the first one she truly made. The first one they _both_ made together."

_You're the best choice I've ever made._

Hermione's hand stopped on Halia's back.

She felt weary.

Sick with understanding.

"Why would she do that?"

"He was her best friend…" Daphne cleared her throat. "Draco is insanely protective of Scorpius for many reasons. It's his way of watching over the one thing my sister wanted more than life itself. I think he feels a lot of guilt he shouldn't, but that's who he's become since the war. I doubt he's even given himself a moment to grieve her because he doesn't feel like he has the right."

Another streak of lightning shot across the sky, followed by the low rumble of thunder. Daphne turned towards the storm again.

"It's pretty bad out there."

Hermione had no response.

Only more questions. So many of them. _Too many._

It would be best if she didn't ask any, but she found herself restless, unable to remain seated for even a second longer. Hermione joined Daphne at the window, thoughtful as she watched Daphne affectionately touch her daughter's sleeping face.

"How could he live like that?" _Married to someone knowing they would never love him._

The question was quiet in the space between them. Living like that sounded like a punishment that didn't fit any crime.

"I'd say that it's the pureblood way, but even if it weren't…" Daphne stared at the world beyond the glass. "Dean once told me that people will seek the love they feel they deserve. And for a long time, Draco…"

Felt he deserved _none_.

  
_Sometimes the hardest battle is against yourself._   
**Unknown**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers still apply
> 
> A/N: Thanks to my alpha bailey0407 and my beta dreamsofdramione. Well this was a productive and unproductive month. So, I am doing a lot better from covid recovery. I think I've come out the mental fog in the last two weeks, not a lot of time but meh. But I will say this biweekly month made me realize how absolutely ragged I've been running myself between editing, rewrites, added scenes, actually writing, trying to keep up, and posting. Literally have been in two places at one time in the fic which isn't easy at all. Oh, and ya know, gotta live and exist and work. Also made me realize I've got to finish this story's first draft and can't do that posting weekly. So I'm sticking to biweekly until I'm finished with the draft then we're going back to weekly (because editing is so much easier) to finish this fic out. I'm currently 4k into 29 (I wrote prob 1.25 chapters in 7 days - at a total of 16k...pre-edits) so my determination is my driving point. Also getting back to my normal function of brain power helps too (boo covid). I think it'll be also good as well for marinating what's happened. 16k is a lot to process.
> 
> Next post: March 12th where Draco is in a good 50% of the chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Alpha:** [ Bailey4047](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bailey4047): Thanks for stepping in at 175k of me just _writing_ and reassuring me of my sanity and direction. Not to mentioning helping me iron out the rough bits of my plan.  
>  **Beta:** [ dreamsofdramione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/) Ugh, words can't express how much you've done for me while writing this. Thank you for being there every step of the way as this insane idea took shape and grew...and grew. Oh, and for smoothing out my stream of consciousness and deleting my semi colons. And the lovely banners! 😘
> 
> Ways to connect:  
> ☕ [ Measure of a Man Pinterest Board](https://www.pinterest.com/dreamsofdramione/measure-of-a-man) [featuring Quotes, Chapter Banners, Links to Measure Fanart, Relevant Resources, Playlists, etc.]  
> 🌱 [ Tumblr](https://inadaze22.tumblr.com/)  
> ☕ [ Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/inadaze.twentytwo.319)


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